


Courting the Beasts of Time

by Youthinkthatwhy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Character Bashing, Dark Arts, Dom Tom Riddle, Dom/sub, F/M, Family History, Fem!Harry, Female Harry Potter, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Sub Harry Potter, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 83,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youthinkthatwhy/pseuds/Youthinkthatwhy
Summary: Sirius Black did his best to understand and protect his Goddaughter. But, being a fugitive left him few options. So, he embraced the family roots he had once shunned, and he chose to teach Harriet everything about the Black Family Magics. Anything that would keep her alive, be it light or dark. Upon his death, his final skepticism of the Order is revealed, and everything is left to Harriet. Her chosen study of time magic for her Godfather's funeral rights opens her eyes to much more than she ever expected.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 134
Kudos: 1054





	1. Release

Time.

There was never enough time. 

Time to learn more from the only true father she had ever had, to be cared for by someone rather than be surviving in one kind of war zone or another, time to grieve his death.

That had truly been the straw that broke the hippogriff’s pride and all remaining loyalty within her to Dumbledore. Sirius had taught Harriet all sorts of things that had Molly Weasley ever discovered a trace of she would have done a great Walburga Black polyjuced impression, but most of all he had taught her the traditions that her parents had honored. Despite being aligned with the Order, her birth father James had been a pureblood with the traditions and all. Even Lily had essentially cut all ties with her muggle family after the deaths of her parents and followed her husband’s family. Magic had been her childhood love, she’d felt no shame in embracing it fully.

As such, Sirius had spent as much time with Harriet in the Black family library as possible. He talked at length about traditions, about rituals, about family secrets, and especially, how to honor those whom they held dear. One afternoon, after a shot of firewhiskey or three, he had even attempted a go at The Talk.

~~~

“Ahem- so, er… I know there are a lot of jokes on the subject, a lot of them made by me, actually, but… It’s not all prearranged anymore you know Harriet, there is true danger out there now!” Sirius’s voice gradually gained volume as he spoke, dropping two small books on the table to punctuate his last words.

Harriet’s gaze raised from the shelves she scanned through as she slowly turned her body to face her father. His pacing in front of the roaring fireplace held a frantic energy. Alarm filled her gaze slowly, yet not so much in regard to his words. Danger, as a word wasn’t that Godric-damned terrifying anymore, she faced danger more often than she faced end of year exams. No, the alarm rang more in regards to the glass of whiskey he continued to hold and the bottle open on the mantle. You could not be a Gryffindor without drinking at some point, nor did she have an issue with her father drinking. However, that usually started mid-lecture, not prior to even addressing the subject.

He heaved a sigh and began again, looking as though every word pained him. “There will come a day when a young man will see what I see in you, what your mother and father surely saw in you, and he will never be good enough for you! But he will try! And he will attempt to take what is not his! And then you must tell him ‘My tata says no until I am sixty’...”

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Harriet flitted closer to the table, moving only on the balls of her feet as if the books were a first year cauldron in potions, just asking to explode. Quickly she read the titles: _Courting the Darke and the Light_ and _Marriage Contracts of the Blackest Blacks._

“TATA!” Harriet screeched out of a desperate hope, “Godric, please stop talking.” She picked up the books, one in each hand waving them in front of his face. Feeling her face grow more red than pale, she continued, “I will read them, I will make notes. Just please, for the love of all that is magic, stop talking!”

~~~

His patented marauder smirk swam in front of her face as the memory faded away. She clung to it like a lifeline, allowing herself for sixty seconds, to grieve as she should be grieving. Then it too slipped back into her memories and she again sat alone in her cupboard. 

It had only been a night since having returned on the Hogwarts Express from her fifth year. Her disastrous fifth year where everything that could have gone wrong had. She did not know what Dumbledore's insane thoughts were after any of this, but as far as she now considered, he had lost her allegiance. She may have to play the part, but she no longer had anything to give the man. He had turned down her request to move permanently to Grimmauld Place now that magic named her the sole heir and the only one allowed entrance and occupancy, fidelius be damned. Sirius’s death had forced the townhouse into the terms of his will, and those terms had been very clear: sanctuary for Harriet, his heir, and the removal of the Order of the Phoenix’s presence. Secondly, he had oh so kindly sent a letter informing her whale and horse muggle relatives that the only man actually looking out for Harriet Lily Potter’s wellbeing had died and that it had been sudden and recent. 

So Harriet had spent the morning and well into the evening cleaning and cooking and not doing it well enough and catching dear ol’ Dudder’s eye, reminding him how fun ‘hunting Harriet’ always had been. Her scalp burned and felt raw from where he had attempted to yank a chunk of her waist length hair while she had cooked. She had burns on her hands from hot water splashing from the pots, and bruises on her arms from where she had been yanked from the kitchen by Vernon when dinner had crashed to the floor. He shoved and prodded her to the cupboard. The smallest door in the house loomed in front of her, even despite its plainness, and he threw her in atop all of her school things with only enough room to land hard on her trunk and be locked inside.

She was done. And locking her in here with everything she cared about in this house had been their mistake. Only two doors stood in her way, and freedom so close she could taste it. And after her last two bouts of near expulsion for magic in the muggle world, she knew quite a bit more about the trace. Small enough that it could have been accidental leakage, and never through a wand, and just don’t let a house elf drop a fucking cake. Easy enough. With a tilt of her head and a slight manic glow in her eyes, Harriet looked towards the lock as it too began to glow. Silently, the door clicked and swung open.

]|[ 

Compared to her first ride on the Knight Bus, the night of Harriet’s second departure remained rather bland. The poor witch, Anine, filling in for Stan could barely string two words together through her nervousness. In a way this gave Harriet a surge of gratitude. The last thing she needed were clingy strangers to talk as though they knew her. The permanent time charm hanging above the driver’s seat glowed 3:33, mocking her for yet another night of full sleep lost. The mockery continued when the otherwise empty bus pulled up to her stop, jerking to a complete stop and causing the bed she had just prepared to climb into to slam into the opposite wall.

Neglecting to wave out of tiredness and stepping off the bus in front of number twelve, Harriet nearly jumped back into it’s vortex as a chain saw went off from behind her. Turning as she crouched behind the pillar of the townhouse, she gagged at being faced with Mundungus Fletcher snoring on a bench. Likely, he had been staking out the place and fallen asleep on duty. _If ever a man had been worthy of a Malfoy Sneer it is this one. And THIS is who Dumbledore sends, really? Sure, it’s the middle of the night, a supposedly busy night, but really?_

Harriet's stomach turned, the memory of him in her home...the Black estate. Maybe that’s why Walburga screamed so much. He did seem diseased and she didn’t blame the painting in this one circumstance for her feral reactions. She shook her head again, banishing her thoughts and refocused ahead of her.

The black door seemed to vibrate with life and a magical current, nearly imperceptible, buzzed as if an angry hive displaced from their home had taken refuge. Remembering her father’s words, she raised her right hand, and simultaneously placed her palm and her forehead against the door. Breathing slow and even, her magic reaching out to the one location that had always felt safe.

The building’s magic flowed over her, cloying and dark in its sweetness. _Welcome Heiress Black,_ the house sang. Harriet smiled and sagged in exhaustion, and with another silent unlatching, the door swung open.


	2. Home of the Blacks

Lugging her trunk into the entrance hall had been about as much energy as Harriet could muster when everything else could wait. Kreacher appeared before her, looking small and grumpy, but mostly neutral. Her actively seeking the Black traditions and hours of Tata and her sneaking about helping him to save everything dark that the Order had tried to throw out in Molly’s great cleaning rampage had gone a long way in his eyes to making her a respectable could-be-mistress. 

“I is be helping, young Mistress?” Kreacher mumbled, still not accustomed to speaking with her so directly like this.

Harriet let loose a tired smile that could still be blinding to those seeking her approval so desperately, such as the elf in front of her. “Some place to sleep, close by, it can be temporary, we will talk about permanent tomorrow.”

Gently, as if she would break despite the power flowing in the room, Kreacher reached his hand to hers and a moment later they were in the drawing room. With a snap of his fingers the largest love seat extended, and four blankets draped themselves over the entire thing. Kreacher waited as his lady climbed beneath the blankets and near immediately her breathing slowed and she slept. He shook his bat ears at his lady for she pushed too much, and with a wave of his hand sent magic into her injuries to help them heal by morning. 

]|[

When she awoke in the morning she cuddled so comfortably, she had forgotten the time, the day, even the events leading up to the moment. For a minute, she expected Sirius to bound in searching for her with a napkin of food smuggled out from under Molly's gaze. Harriet looked up hopefully towards the door of the drawing room, and saw nothing but darkness. Light filtered into the room from behind her, and the silent vacuum of the house waited where she expected a rowdy Order morning. As one it all rushed back to her, and though her joy from escaping the Dursleys mostly unscarred beat like a drum, the ache in her heart that she had yet to address screamed even louder. She would never have Tata again.

Her body curled in on itself, aching to the point that she watched herself from the outside as a specter. She pulled on the thread leading back into her mind, searching for something, anything to ground her. His teachings came to the forefront.

~~~

“Remembering someone is a very personal aspect, however, there can be guidelines if we so choose to use them, some families even have their own. There are Black mourning rituals, The Black Fortnight, as it is referred to. We wear formal black-” with this he gave her a smile, not quite that wry smile, but a small one. Its presence made Tata look years younger.

“With one exception, an allowance in formality is made for an artifact of significant importance to the deceased. The fortnight days are allotted according to tradition, unless outlined in the will the days are meant to be spent in pairs as follows, in study, in meditation, in progression, in warding, in astronomy, in family, and finally in ritual. The subject of the fortnight is up to the practicing individual, but always it seems to find a way to honor the deceased in a manner even if not intended.”

By the time Sirius had finished the explanation his study felt smaller. With only him and Harriet left in the world, she couldn't bring herself to break the moment. Her father's reverence over this had stolen her breath completely.

~~~

Breathing again and coming back to her body, Harriet shakily whispered for Kreacher. He appeared on her right with a crack that moments ago would have shattered Harriet. “Kreacher,” she began in a low voice before he could speak, “do we have any appropriate formal clothing for me in the house?”

It turned out that asking Kreacher about clothing mirrored the exact experience Harriet had always imagined going shopping with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson would be. Removing Diagon Alley from the situation did not change the fact that Kreacher had a terrifying enthusiasm that seemed to outright possess him.

The Blacks had seemingly never thrown away a single article of clothing, even the ones that really should have been. Their house elf had been secretly stockpiling everything in the attic; sorted until the day he had a mistress to try everything on to. In no time she had a full wardrobe of only the finest Black formal fashions. Including the most positively immoral underwear that she would burn as soon as Kreacher stopped staring at her like she would hurt his precious treasures. Wearing what she assumed to be a teenage Bellatrix’s desperate hope to seduce Voldemort would not end well, she shuddered.

Picking up her favorite set of formal robes from the pile, Harriet slipped them on. They were black, as the rest were, and instead of being floor length as most robes they hit at just above her knees with fitted long sleeves that extended just past her wrists. The robes were flexible enough for the activity she would be doing, but formal nonetheless. She added stockings to the mix and left her usual wild mane of hair behind her. 

“Kreacher, see to it that the Head of House suite begins to be cleaned and then send these clothes there,” She gestured to the remaining hoard to her left and ended with a small smile.

“Yes, Mistress.” He bowed once, stepped toward the mountain, and then he and it disappeared with a crack.

While Kreacher handled the set up of her new rooms, Harriet turned her mind to her next task. She wanted something to wear to honor her father. Even among all the Black traditions that he had taught her, in his teenage years he declared himself as much a Potter as he had been a Black.

Moving down from the attic, Harriet took the stairs to the third floor. On one side of the hall were double doors pushed wide open. Through which, Kreacher could be seen cleaning and mumbling about the torturing of “those filthy muggles.” Across the hall were the two single doors that led to Sirius and Regulus' childhood bedrooms. Walking to the unadorned of the two doors, Harriet took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her magic open the door for her.

The room remained entirely how she had seen it last, and she questioned why she had expected any differently. That maybe his lack of presence in this room would have dulled the color of his great Gryffindor banner? But the eternal banner still stuck. She sat on the bed for a moment, unmade and messy, fitting of Tata, and not wanting to rummage through all of his things, thought about where his lapel pins might be. She could think of nothing more fitting for Tata, for his Black Fortnight than something to honor him as a Gryffindor and a Marauder. First the boy who defied his family, and then the man who built his own new family. 

Standing and moving to the desk she opened a drawer and found scraps of paper, broken quills, several ink pots, even a couple muggle pens, and at the bottom, a small wizarding photograph with a Gryffindor lapel pin jammed into the corner. A slight dent turned one of the corners and the scarlet background glowed still bright but ran through with hairline cracks. _Probably from the deflection of a charm or poorly powered hex._ She mused. The photograph showed a small baby with a lock of wild black hair and piercing green eyes sitting on a table. She would shift and wobble and almost fall, and in that moment, a carefree Sirius would appear, lifting baby Harriet from certain doom and making her giggle uncontrollably. In the background of the kitchen scene, James and Lily Potter could be seen looking on with exasperation and then fondness. As if this same scene had been repeated over thirty times, just to properly get it on camera.

A tear rolled down Harriet’s cheek and dropped onto her hand uninvited. She fumbled with the pin and adhered it to the small collar of her robe. Her hand lingered there a moment, gripping her lapel as she took a steadying breath. Tucking the photo into her pocket for safekeeping, she wiped the tear away dramatically, smiled widely, and set off for the library.

]|[

The beautiful monstrosity the Black family called a library had been the guaranteed place to find Harriet the summer before her fifth year when she had first entered the Black family home. It stretched three floors, two of them visible immediately upon entry, and a sub level basement wherein the Blacks held the darkest of their books. On the wall directly across from the entrance nestled a hearth so large that Hagrid’s three headed dog Fluffy could have stretched out and still had room. Constantly ablaze, no matter time, the fire kept the entire library warm. Above it’s black marble mantle hung the most elaborate Black coat of arms in the entire town house. The metal work gleamed and instead of the typical precious jewels of goblin made work, silver detailed the crest clearly upon the darker shield. It had probably originated as a shield used in a battle that Professor Binns had deemed never important enough to speak about, much like Gryffindor’s sword, brought home as a symbol of the strength of the Black blood.

Harriet pulled herself from her thoughts, and let her fingers drift down from where they had been brushing the black family motto, and turned. The shelves began to the left of the hearth and opened up into a huge circular space filled with rows and rows of packed bookcases. Along the walls, every now and then there would be a gap in the bookshelves where a wall sconce and a cluster of armchairs or a table and chairs would be hidden among the tombs, in the center of the room stood an imposing grand staircase that split off in the middle to the opposite sides of the second floor ring. The area in front of the stairs opened to be clear of any shelving, but to the side and behind, the shelves packed tight enough to only allow three people wide between them. The second floor stood taller than the first, with bookshelves and ladders reaching over fifteen feet in the air, culminating in a ceiling to rival the great hall. 

Sitting on the bottom step, Harriet leaned back on her elbows and let her head drop back to gaze above in wonder. The library ceiling cast a perfect recreation of the constellations and the stars that were currently above them. Each star position had a large crystal installed, allowing the light from the sun or the moon to reflect through it as a skylight, and as the sky above them shifted with the passing days the magic of the ceiling would shift as well. Silver threads of magic drew the base lines of the constellations faintly, easy enough to ignore, but also enough to be beautiful. The only time the ceiling of the library would be dark would be during a new moon, and even then, magic could be channeled in and it would glow like white fiendfyre.

Tata had done that once, Harriet recalled, he had wanted to show Moony what the ceiling looked like under the brightest full moon. In his boyish eagerness, he had overcharged the wave of power he had sent, and even the lines drawing the constellations had burned so bright they had to shield their eyes as if from the sun itself. It had dimmed quickly, then held at the proper burning light, but it had still been a shock to poor Moony’s sensitive eyes.

A blaring growl echoed around the room as Harriet moved to clench her stomach. How long had it been since she had eaten? More than a day. Maybe Three? Three mornings ago sounded right.

She stood dusting off her robes and walked in a half circle to the back of the grand staircase to her original destination. Hanging from beneath its arch a gorgeous Gothic chandelier lit four desks pushed together in a circle with a small tower of tiny empty cubes at its center. Pivoting quickly, Harriet turned to face the only abnormally shaped shelf on the upper floors. The sides were straight, but the top arched, following the fluidity of the staircase as if it were built into the underside. Runes etched into the outer frame were well worn from the generations of witches and wizards who had run their hands over the symbols in study, longing, or possibly most of all, frustration. Only those of sufficient Black blood or who held the title of Black could take a book off of this shelf. To all else, the books ought to be just another part of the wood, delicately painted as a great work of art, but immovable.

She crouched down and didn't even have to scan for the title. Her fingers closed around the silky silver binding and the book slipped loose of it's brothers. It felt very natural in that moment to remove the photograph of her childhood self and slip it into the pages of _Courting the Beasts of Time_ as she turned to the first chapter once more, and headed off towards the kitchen.

]|[

Harriet had been introduced to the study of time more by accident rather than searching it out. It had taken herself a long time to feel comfortable casually mentioning how Tata's escape in her third year had really come about.

It had been easier to talk about how Hermione had been so off that year, and how she had always appeared at random times, culminating in the reveal of the jail break. Granted, all except the Golden Trio and Dumbledore himself had only the dementor side of the story to marvel at.

She expected Tata to laugh it off in light of her much more insane adventures of repeatedly fighting Voldemort in a school full of adults. Yet, third year had been different, that year had not been about a grand destiny between the fight for good and evil that Dumbledore used to claim the house cup for Gryffindor every other year. That year had been an active decision on her savior complex’s part. An active decision choosing to save the only magical person that had a legal connection to her, and to break about fifty laws in the process.

The time turner half had caught her father off guard far more that she had anticipated. Tata had gone on to explain that the handful of laws regarding time travel that she had known about and nearly broken, and the dozens she blundered on unaware of, were the true dangers of that story.

Tata had decided she needed more information, not only to understand her past decisions, but because weird things had a habit of coming to Harriet, and deciding to roost. He brought her to the silver book she now held. He gave her explicit instructions that until she could protect it, it could never leave the house. The cover felt of brushed woven fur, with gold embossed letters beautifully and familiarly spelling out the title, yet its color never seemed to wear or fade. Harriet had been engrossed in the book near the end of last summer, but with the Order distractions in the home, she only managed the first few chapters. 

She glanced up as she entered the kitchen, realizing where her feet had taken her while her mind had wandered. A table cloth covered the long table, and at the head seat, a covered lunch setting waited. Harriet sat, amazed at Kreacher's forethought but also immediately nervous, then stifled a laugh. Kreacher had not cooked much while Molly Weasley had ruled this kitchen with her wooden spoon, _he is a bit out of practice, for a human at least._ Pushed together were a baked potato, treacle tart, scallops, and ice cream. She could not fault him for trying so hard, but seeing everything on one plate sent an unpleasant twist through her stomach.

Still laughing, she summoned a bowl, lifting the dessert options into that, and set it aside. Then she cracked open her book to the beginning. The time had come to begin Tata's Fortnight properly.


	3. The Black Fortnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Shite.
> 
> I'm not personally one for Author's notes. To read them or to write them. So, they'll be rather minimal here, because I don't like the idea of interruptions for those people who are reading multiple chapters at once.
> 
> But Godric damn it. I didn't know if anyone would enjoy this as much as I am enjoying writing it.
> 
> Here is another chapter, Waaay the fuck earlier than I planned to post it, but you all deserve it.
> 
> In the future if there is an Author's Note at the beginning, it's probably a recommendation of something that helps add to the reading, that you can heed or ignore at your own prerogative. 
> 
> Read, and comment if you feel inclined, your responses to Harriet's antics are great!

Harriet didn’t normally open textbooks at the dedications page, but something about the one in _Courting the Beasts of Time_ resonated. 

“To my sister, and the best partner in crime through time I could have asked for. And to my beloved, who has regularly infuriated Time, your power still intoxicates.”

She felt something missing as she read those words, something just out of reach and something so far away that she did not know how to even begin to look for it. For now, she did all she could, storing those words in the back of her mind and moving on to the first chapter. 

“The movement of time as a concept in the magical community is either an entirely undiscussed phenomenon as of the year of this publication, or else thought maintains it is so linear that no two conflicting events can occur concurrently without a complete breakdown of magic. Neither of these remain true. In relation to how it passes and bends, time is flexible. From this non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, time is more like a large ball of silk threading. With it’s weaving and close contact at odd moments, time can be shifted without breaking.”

Selwyn’s words did seem to fit much more accurately with Harriet’s experience in third year. She had seen herself several times that night and yet there had not once been a crisis of magic as Hermione had been convinced of. As she mulled over these differences between the explanations Hermione had always recited and the liberal take of Selwyn’s writings, she had to wonder how much of the ministry’s warning to Hermione had been from a lack of proper understanding or from fear. Harriet would not claim to be an expert, or anything of the sort, but Selwyn seemed much more at ease in her discussions.

She set aside her book for the moment, using her photo to mark her spot. Her dishes floated to the sink for her and collecting her things she set back up the stairs. Making a beeline for the circle of desks she pulled parchment and ink from the tower in the center and set to work in earnest. 

Kreacher found her there hours later. He arrived laden with a tea tray and she distractedly murmured her thanks. Harriet had quickly needed to move to journals in order to keep her overflowing notes organized. The first chapters covered not only the theory of how timelines related to one another and what timelines Time-Turners were capable of creating, but also the magical trade of a Time-Turner. The fact that its use did come at a price. And to even acknowledge that, Selwyn had introduced the half of the party that collected on that trade. Time. Not just a concept, an identity. A cognitive, corporeal, and conniving creature. Three creatures actually.

It was a lot to take in.

Harriet continued long into the night and through the next day. Above her the ceiling shifted and the crystals brightened as the sun rose and grew steadily hotter overhead. Kreacher floated thick candles above her, changing out those in the chandelier that had burned to nothing. Books flew about as the library cleaned it’s shelves and reorganized, and still the lone witch remained obtuse to it all. Even her unsatiated hunger could not pull her from her study.

The second half of the book dedicated itself to Selwyn’s title. Spells, potions, and rituals were recorded and explained in fine detail. Not only did Selwyn wish for those to actually be learned rather than repeatedly backfired, but the magical exchange with Time had been listed and painstakingly recorded. A promise listed that if one had the strength to repeatedly perform these contracts, a connection could form.

Each time she came across one of these exchanges, Harriet made sure to make a full copy of it in a separate journal. The spells were on the lower side of the magic exchange and had minimal, non permanent results. One that could be potentially useful would allow her timeline to disconnect from those around her for several seconds, in order to lengthen her string. Theoretically, this could allow her to move while those around her remained frozen for those key few seconds. The price for the spellwork seemed straightforward yet taxing, magic for the spell and for the length the castor sustained the magic.

Heaving a sigh, Harriet pushed herself away from the desk and rubbed her eyes. Her wrist ached from taking notes and she massaged it as she took stock of the room around her. Parchment scrolls littered the floor and the desk. She had not even noticed the table top overflowing. Kreacher curled asleep on the floor three feet away, several scrolls tucked beneath him in his arms and had become a whistling, snoring paperweight.

A quick look at the clock closest to her revealed that Harriet had studied both of her assigned days away, and into the early morning. Exhausted, she left her notes where they were and slumped over to the fireplace. The warmth of the bright coals called to her, and she puddled on the floor, falling asleep without another thought.

]|[ 

Meditation made Harriet angry. Maybe that feeling could partially be attributed to the memories of her utterly shite occlumency lessons bleeding through her attempt to concentrate. Harriet had even considered the merits of turning back time to answer Lockhart's fanmail for forty-eight hours instead of enduring this torture, but realized those dramatics were probably taking it too far. Finding a place quiet enough to be able to clear her mind had posed enough of a challenge, but not falling asleep? Impossible. 

She had settled on assigning Kreacher to monitor her. His unblinking stare worked wonders at keeping Harriet awake and unnerved. She sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed in her suite and attempted to clear her mind of everything not related to Time.

The creaking flooring of the house, so very different from Hogwarts’ stones, took more concentration to tune out. Focusing on nothing… _CREAK_. She huffed. Perhaps reviewing the text would be a good place to start. Thinking nothing would be an impossibility, but thoughts of time didn't have to be removed from her mind.

As Harriet recalled, Zerrin Selwyn had written at length regarding the character and behaviors of Time, but very little about a physical manifestation. Harriet hoped to strong arm her way somehow into meditation and maybe an interaction with the three beasts, but what little Selwyn recorded may have been more helpful on a blind date than in a text book. 

Erat embodied the past, his territorial and protective nature made him the most costly to make bargains with. From his golden coat fell the dust that filled time-turners and could work as an ingredient in potions and rituals. Harriet had gotten lost in thought several times thinking about sparkling dust creating a cloak for such a noble being.

The present could not have been more different than her brother. Sum appeared black as the void, and the book implied she had a distinct lack of grace in conversation, much less a desire to claim large costs. The magics Sum bargained with were the spells Harriet had been researching. That made more sense now, Harriet thought, for in-the-moment magic to be the specialty of the present creature.

Silky silver replaced darkness in her view as Autem’s coat replaced Sum. Light moved over the soft fur like flowing water. Autem, the beast of the future, had a sharp voice and often spoke in flighty riddles when asked to consult the future. Much of true divination fell under her specialty, and each came with their own individual price to match the request.

As she thought upon the nature of the trio, she began to feel the twitch of hair on her skin, coarse warm fur that she could bury her bare toes in to keep warm. A Silky feather boa settled on her lap and in between her fingers. From behind, velvet fur that seemed to lack a temperature at all, pressed against her back. Without warning, a great black cat head pushed into Harriet’s neck, causing her to flinch sideways and fall off the trunk. She landed in a fine layer of golden dust on the floor and listened to ringing bells of laughter fade as she readjusted her bearings.

]|[

  
  


Albus Dumbledore had not had a very cheery morning, despite having the opportunity to showcase a newly designed robe set of golden yellow dotted with the brightest of red radishes.

It had only been three days since the students had all gone home for summer break and already there were problems. The devices that monitored the blood protection on 4 Privet Drive, and that monitored Harriet’s presence there had stopped reacting completely as of last night. While the latter of the two often went silent when Harriet had stayed at Hogwarts or with the Weasley’s, the former did not bode well.

He had been forced to attend to other duties, but as afternoon came, Albus had gathered his wand and his matching radish hat and set off for Hogsmeade. It regularly took Albus several minutes after being spotted in the busy little town to be free enough to apparate. Most people wanted a moment with their beloved headmaster, and experiencing attention of this manner helped Albus constantly calculate how Harriet would need to experience the world in order to find fulfilment in the people. He believed, after years of teaching children, that a distinctive process with the intent of molding desirable behaviors could breed success.

On three, he turned on his heel, and dropped his grandfatherly smile. He reappeared on a scorching June paved road. Manicured gardens and houses with purposefully half shuttered blinds lined the street and around both corners. The stagnant summer air made any view hazy as he approached the fourth numbered house on the drive. Another plastered smile and a rhythmic knock on the door later were met for several minutes with silence. Just as he prepared to knock once more, the out of breath and purple face of Mr. Dursley answered.

“No UNSCHEDULED visitors!” He bellowed, chicken broth flying from the drumstick he clenched in one massive baby hand. “Thought we had seen the last of your kind!” 

He moved to slam the door, but in a kick quite agile for a man pushing one hundred, Albus jammed the door wide open and stepped into the hall. He moved forward, speaking as he went his gentle grandfather tone paralleling oddly with his movements. “Tell me, where is our dear girl?” He pushed his way to the kitchen. 

Huddled against the far wall, Petunia attempted to shield her son, but failed as his bulk greatly outmassed her own. He glared at his mother and had not seemed to pick up on the danger of the current situation. The boy looked up fearfully when Dursley roared in from behind the headmaster, screaming nonsense about muggle authorities and people with no class. Albus disregarded the man and attempted to locate anything with Harriet’s magical presence, feeling for the protections of the home. 

Nothing. The foundations were completely empty, as if light magic had never touched the property; not any traces of blood protections, at least. A curious residue of dark accidental magic tainted the floors, the kind that generally comes from harm, but that wasn’t important now. _Where is Lily’s protection, the love, the home magic?_

Tuning the fat man in again, and watching spit fly in front of his face as he leaned back, he tersely repeated his question, stepping forward to halt the large man. “Where is Harriet?”

Behind him, the boy answered for his parents, “Freak left, walked out without a word and made all our lives better. How’d it take you all powerfuls so bloody long to notice?”

“LANGUAGE!” Petunia shrieked, leaving the room in silence.

Albus’s body pivoted toward the child. Red seeping across his vision and an itch of magic traveled through his arms raising the hair beneath his sleeves. Fear could be good for children.

Dursley laughed victoriously and dropped his heaving bulk down at the table, breaking the moment. He stabbed his fork into his cooled food and spoke through the next mouthful. “She’d been a burden and she knew it, and she knew we’d be happier without her.”

Albus forcibly relaxed and reined in his magic. Working quickly, he performed a complex obliviate to remove the memory of his visit, and left, locking the front door behind him. He needed to alter his plans, and his visit could not be marked as helpful yet. _Now where in Morgana is Harriet?_

]|[

A bowl filled with golden powder caught the morning light as Kreacher pulled aside the heavy black curtains of the tall windows. Light reflected gently across the lump in the bed. Long black hair splayed over a green pillow showed the only visual of the human who hid from the sunrise.

Kreacher walked to the doorway and back, returning hovering a large glass of iced orange juice and a pitcher in front of him. He let them descend on the table to the left of the bed, careful to avoid the silver book and wooden bowl of powder that his mistress so prized. He took a moment, even patting his pillow case to make sure he had handled every step, while the witch in the bed continued to perform a great corpse impression. Hoping for a good morning, Kreacher reached to touch the foot, careful not to grab, but to firmly pat. He called out in a clear voice, but did not yell, “Mistress, it is being the time you wanted to wake!”

A sharp jerk came from under the cover, and Kreacher forced himself to not flee. Mistress cared for him, she had proven that. The movement halted halfway and a long pained groan sounded through the room. The tension flowed out of him with that sound.

He moved to the top of the four-poster, pulling the covers off and down to the foot of the bed, revealing his lady. She knelt as though she had collapsed from exhaustion. Pale scars criss crossed upon the even more pale flesh of her back, her arms, and her legs. The slip of a dress she wore hiding nearly nothing. Labor, sports, and survival had honed her. With her diminutive size, she would never have the height advantage, but her muscles were strong and knew how to throw her in and out of harm's way.

“G’mornin’, Kreacher.” She mumbled. A small hand pushing her curtain of tangled black hair away from her face, letting it fall across her back to brush the mattress. Her green eyes were still foggy, and she looked down at the bed in a manner that Kreacher knew would have her falling asleep again in seconds flat if he didn’t act quickly.

He lunged at the table, desperate to keep this morning’s wake up as a success. In two hands he held the glass up to Mistress. The fresh scent wafted upward, and her eyes flickered open, this time alert and glowing ever so much. She scooted off the edge of the mattress, grabbed the glass with a murmured “thank you,” and stumbled into the closet.

Kreacher stood there baffled. No matter how many times the exchange repeated itself, her immediate change felt abnormal. Orange juice was startlingly effective on his lady.

]|[

Harriet had built herself a study fort in the dueling room on the first day of progression. In the corner by the door, a desk that had long ago been bolted to the floor acted as the pillar for her fort. Her study materials used the middle and left side while the right edge had a blanket adhered with a sticking charm. The blanket draped over a nest of pillows that were perfect for collapsing on after she pushed herself too hard. Kreacher had even set up a snack table for intermittent munching. He steadily had improved on separating foods and getting her to eat when she forgot. Bowls littered the table filled with bite size chocolates from Honeydukes, string beans with ranch dip, apples with peanut butter, pretzels, mini tartlets, and finally a pitcher of her beloved orange juice.

A hodgepodge of different large squares of texture made up the floor beneath her feet. Flagstones here, wood panelling there, grass and carpet popping up several times in separate areas, with a larger marble square in the center. Each smaller square measured several strides across. Tata, in introducing her to the home, had told her that an overly sadistic ancestor of his had designed this room. He claimed the man had done so much in the attitude of Mad-eye Moody. Cackling, when the younger generations were learning and tripped moving from wood to carpet, only to get hit with the curse they had been attempting to avoid. 

The steady munching turned out to be essential as she focused in on one of the spells her book described as being under the domain of Sum, the beast of the present. She had studied the theory of _tempus seorsum_ extensively, and Harriet had anticipated a drain but did not prepare for the reality of attempting the spell so many times. She knew the ways to minimize the drain initially, so she focused on separating her timeline’s string for only a short period of time and minimizing the number of others she would have to affect.

Either the first five repetitions failed, or she had not held the spell long enough to notice anything. The sixth time, Harriet funneled her magic into her wand hand and the moment she saw a bird pass the long window, she focused that energy on pulling herself apart from the bird, and holding herself aloft. _“Tempus seorsum!”_ The bird seemed to freeze mid flight, and yet Harriet felt her chest breathing at a normal pace. She released a cheer, breaking her focus, and the bird flew out of sight. Her body sagged, and in surprise, she locked her knees and tensed her muscles. She stayed there for a moment, as the fuzziness left her, and the high of being successful returned. 

She continued much in the same way. Leaning against the wall, snacking and restoring energy, then when something moved outside the window, she would again cast. After a large meal at lunchtime, waiting around for movement seemed tedious. Baring her best smile, she employed Kreacher into her training. She asked him to perform distractions with high levels of movement. At first the tasks were dull, trimming the grass in the large room and sweeping, but afterward, he joined her in practice. He juggled small balls of fire and refined them down to a point to throw at a target. It stunned her so significantly to learn he had offensive skills that she inadvertently took a five minute break to watch.

When she recovered from her shock, she picked up her pace, working small charms in while she suspended herself out of time. She changed the color of Kreacher’s pillowcase to green, then back to black after he threw a fit. Levitating pillows and dummies for a short time was possible and repeatable, but exhausting. _One more try, then dinner._ Kreacher waited at the door for her, but she held up one finger and turned to a pillow on the far side of the room. 

_“Tempus seorsum."_ She felt herself pull away and pointed her wand at the pillow. Her arm shook, but stubbornly she ignored it. _“Accio.”_

A yowl reverberated in her eardrums and a guttural voice cried out as if their heart were breaking, “Too much!” 

Then all went black.

She couldn’t move. 

Time passed around her fluidly, but her ability to measure it slipped through her thoughts. Her fingers were unable to twitch, to grasp, to pull back the feeling and she resigned herself to drifting a while longer. Voices moved around her, but their words were muffled and unfamiliar. Until she could _feel_ again, she could not chase them.

A weight layed next to her, large and comforting, but her limbs were heavy. Fingers twitched, but the large muscles didn’t answer. Shadows converged on her in her panic, and the comforting weight disappeared. Struggling, she jerked her torso, and sat up with a cry. Harriet’s eyes didn’t open, she just felt for her body and pushed herself up to huddle against the headboard. Kreacher appeared in the doorway, and the squeak of the floorboard had Harriet’s eye’s flying open but not really seeing. The panic closed over her and she pulled her arms tighter around herself, missing the slight figure entering behind Kreacher.

“It is being bad, miss.” His failed attempt to whisper didn’t really matter. His mistress in the bed, blind to her surroundings, could only drown in her own fears and turmoil in the moment. The witch behind him, however, had heard him perfectly when the thought had only entered his head.

“Then we shall help.” A soft voice answered. “Kreacher, would you mind preparing a light breakfast and please include-”

“The orange juice!” He nodded firmly and trotted down the stairs, waiting until out of earshot to disapparate.

The witch smiled softly, but it fell as she turned to the bundle on the bed. Slipping off her shoes, she climbed into the four poster monstrosity directly in the eyeline of the other woman. She sat directly in front of the other when her presence finally sank through. 

“Luna!” The profound relief in Harriet’s voice pierced an ache in the blonde’s chest. She opened her arms wide as Harriet launched herself, linking her arms around the other girl’s neck. Her back hit the bed and she curled her arms around her friend, brushing her fingers along her spine and waiting. Quite some time passed before Harriet felt ready to speak, and that wasn’t abnormal; half the time that’s the way these events played out, the other half left her babbling immediately.

“I had a nightmare. I couldn’t move.” Harriet did not look up.

With a gentle rumble and a lack of reproach, Luna answered. “Yes. That can happen when you drain your magical core.”

“Did Kreacher tell you? Did he go get you?”

“No, I banged on your door seconds after your fall. Only knowing exactly what happened convinced Kreacher to let me in. The guard duty outside is _fantastic_ , by the way.” Harriet lifted her head fast enough to see Luna roll her eyes at her last words. “I hummed, they took a nice little nap, and I doubt they ever saw me.”

An image of Mundungus asleep on his bench popped into her head. “I forgot about them. I don’t think they actually know I’m here.”

“Now,” Luna began, with more steel in her tone, and Harriet rolled so they were laying side by side. “I know better than to ask for a promise that you won’t push yourself, because you're a stubborn galump. Can we try to keep you from overdoing it when you’re not in mortal peril?”

“I might need loopholes.”

“Life always has loopholes, do you want some orange juice?”

She moved so quickly that the floor shook from her jump. Luna lifted herself from the bed at a much more languid pace, and skipped down the stairs to follow Harriet.

After a delicious breakfast of eggs, sizzling bacon, and her promised orange juice, Harriet tugged her blond friend about the house, nightmares forgotten. There were so many rooms and things to show her which the Order had forbidden or had never been able to unlock in the first place. She just knew that together they could find so many more. 

The first stop landed them in Harriet’s closet. Leaving the other girl to browse through the fabrics, she reached to her back and unlaced the rumpled robes she had slept in. Lace and silk pooled around her feet as she shimmied, stepping out of the fabric, she gently tossed it into the clothing chute in the wall.

“This looks too...imposing to be your style.” Luna’s loss for words had Harriet glancing over suspiciously. That verified it, Luna had a homing beacon for the out of place. 

She held the one garment that Harriet had thrown away. _Apparently not far enough._ No single piece of fabric crossed the expanse of the bra, instead countless thin strips of green and black leather laced from the bottom wires and through a ring that sat in the center. From there, thin strips ran over the shoulders, crossing in the back, and meeting again in the front.

"I swear, I tossed that out." She started, "I just forgot how proficient Kreacher is at recovery."

The sly edge in Luna's tone left no room for evasion. "But you bought it in the first place? Naughty witch!"

"Um- Not really. That set was Bellatrix's…" she shuffled awkwardly, trying to use what little occluding skill she possessed to not picture the insane woman in _that_ way. She turned and heard the drawer _snick_ shut behind her, and pulled a set of robes from a hanger. 

"Do you think she got lucky with it? She had bold taste even when she was young..." The blonde's dreamy voice returned at Harriet’s shoulder.

Laughter bubbled it's way out of Harriet's chest and she stumbled as she slipped into the clean clothes. "Merlin, I hope not. If so, I really need to burn it." She tugged the raven toward her, "Forget that, this is the best part of the closet."

She gestured toward a shoe rack the size of a bookcase, on which sat a pair of black school shoes and a scuffed grey pair of trainers looking worse for the wear. Luna, unlike most, remained patient at the boring facade. Harriet moved forward pressing a knot in the wood on the right side. The rack and panel behind it pulled forward, moving directly to the left and revealed a dimly lit entrance framed in the casing.

She followed her friend's eager smile with no hesitation as the panel closed behind them. The floor of the passage had been paved of smooth marble, with not a flaw to trip over, and the wooden paneling on the walls fit in with much of the rest of the house. The hallway's sole lighting came from a large silver crystal mounted in a casing on the ceiling and attached to a rail. As they walked, the crystal followed their pace.

"Isn't this the best?" Harriet whispered, bouncing on her toes and spinning to see the reaction to her surprise.

“There’s nothing more classic than secret passageways.” With a conspiratorial look, they were off. 

They reached a flight of stairs and raced down them side by side, the crystal in it’s bracket colliding with another at the bottom with a sharp _crack_. Shoving through the door, the young women found themselves breathless in the lower ring of the library. Still giddy from their dash, Harriet wove through the shelves, dodging Luna’s grasp, and diving across the gaps for cover. The pursuit tracked silent and swift, and slightly terrifying, until the prickling feeling of being watched that had been nudging the corner of her brain abruptly cut off. Green eyes lifted to peer through the shelves.

Luna stood frozen, staring at the engraved bookshelf tucked beneath the stairs. She waited a moment before speaking, timing her words perfectly to catch Harriet’s sneaking form behind her off guard. “Where does this one go?”

“What?”

She gestured to the runes inscribed on the frame of the case. Pointing to a miniature crest, “Have you not read these? I assume it refers to the Black’s magic, and a doorway. Something about needing Black blood.” 

Harriet moved to the right side, where an additional crest hid embossed, centered in a perfect circle. Investigating just closer, she discovered a carved groove, wide enough for a handhold next to the wall. “You are bloody brilliant!” She laid her palm on the crest, allowing her magic to resonate with the magic in the wood. Her fingers pricked as if resting her hand on a board of nails and then the sensation withdrew and a pleased humming replaced it. The carving beneath her fingers glowed silver and the shelf separated from the wall behind it. 

With Luna peaking over her shoulder, she grasped the handhold and swung the shelf on its axis. Light greeted their searching eyes.

Thousands of crystals were nestled together, ranging from the size of a chicken's egg to a dinner plate. They gave off a soft blue glow that multiplied with the presence of each neighbor. Every inch of the stone ceiling, including the arch cut for the stairway, glowed with luminous beauty. Stepping in felt like leaving land altogether. Each foot down the stairs took the witches into another world both reminiscent of Harriet's experience at the bottom of the black lake and at the same time incomparable. The light left enough radiance for a proper visual, and the room gifted a sight to behold. The walls formed a perfect circle built of black marble. Shelves had been carved into the stone and ran the outer rim, broken only twice by wooden doors. The shelves themselves had many books, but were not packed to the brim like the library upstairs. Here gaps sat empty or even in one case, a whole row. The carpet beneath their toes looked soft and silver, plush and comfortable enough to lay down on and seemed to glow from the light above. A glossy wooden table with chairs dominated the center of the room, two candelabras rested on it and appeared to be the lone other light source option in the room. A long couch lay to the left and a blanket draped over the back brought a smile to Harriet's face.

As the stairs ended in front of them, a black podium sat balancing a large book blocking their path. The pages were completely blank as Luna's pale hands flipped through them. Harriet bent down to look closer at the podium itself, finding a smooth drawer on which she tugged. With a soft _click_ the drawer slid open. Inside, neatly arranged in rows sat bottles of golden ink with a set of quills beautifully adorned with pitch black feathers. She pulled one of each out and exchanged a long look with the witch beside her.

Over the years since they had grown closer, the two witches had spoken about many things. The one topic that traveled through their eyes in that moment had been one of many which they felt were too sensitive for those around them to be aware of. Even the thought of writing in an empty book, whether the one in front of them or in a journal as Molly Weasley often urged, summoned mixed feelings in Harriet. The Diary of Tom Riddle held a distinct memory, the cloying scent of blood and venom, yet the pounding of her heart from having _connected to someone_.

Long before Harriet had understood who Tom Riddle would one day become, she had been able to talk with him. Her conversations never had the same pull and possession that Ginerva later described. Harriet believed Tom had tried a different approach with her. Yes, he had been more aloof than most boys were; but he had been charming. His words were confident, smooth and measured. His voice washed over her, tinged in desire _before_ he knew what responsibilities rested upon her.

Luna's hand softly closed on her trembling wrist, guiding her to the book. "This isn't that time." There hung no judgement, just a simple understanding in her words.

Trembling, and seeking to ignore the sting of disappointment that ran through her, she dipped the quill and wrote the first thing she could think of in spiky golden letters: **_The dark arts._ **

The book hummed for a moment and then titles spilled onto the pages in a column of black ink. A gold glow rose in the corner of her eye and her head bolted up. As titles appeared in the book, their corresponding book's spine began to glow a gentle white gold. Before their eyes every book took its turn being recorded and then marking it's location, until the walls were like looking at the moon. "Every single one is about the dark arts." She breathed. "We finally found some more." She glanced over to see Luna's dreamy smile in full force.

"I have no idea where to start."

With another conspiratorial look, they were off. They each took a stance on opposite sides of the tables in front of a candelabra and Harriet lit them with an absentminded wave. Pivoting, they divided and headed towards the remaining doors. 

Harriet's door gave with no trouble, and the light in her hand proved to be the only light she would have in the room. A thin layer of dust covered everything and the grey made it hard to distinguish much without entering further. Leaving the door open, she walked to the center and held the light an arms length above her head. The floor she stood on looked like wide stone, similar to the brick type in Hogwarts dungeons and on the moving staircases. The corners of the room were no longer visible. Instead years of wax build up from candles had built a concave bowl shape to the floor of the room. A large circle had been kept free of wax buildup, though the dust still clung, and the chalk residue of a badly scrubbed ritual remained.

"Wicked."

Harriet would bet if she tested the magical warding of this room alone, not to mention the cavern outside the door, that the wards would be astounding. Probably enough to mask any activity from the other occupants of the house itself.

She darted out of the room, hauling her giant candle stick behind her. Passing Luna she huffed, "Ritual room!"

Luna slid by her into the room she had just vacated, calling a swift, "Potions Lab!”

She halted in the doorway of the brightly lit room and an intrusive thought thrust into her brain. _I wonder if this is the sort of thing Severus Snape has wet dreams about…_ Immediately she wished for a slip and fall into an amnesiac coma. _Mother of Merlin, brain please shut up._ But hope came too late. Her brain spiraled. Because of course Snape must have had wet dreams, _he is human._ And they probably had included a potions lab at some point and they might even have included in graphic detail her mother-

"Nope. Hard stop. We don't go there." Word vomit felt like her only viable solution. She began to recite a lesson of Tata's to distract herself. "The first rule when working with the Dark Arts is understanding one's self. The second is understanding the magic you are attempting to work with. Dark does not mean evil, it is simply a reference to how magic interacts with the things around us. Light comes from self, while with dark we also pull from the energies in the world." Here she began to mumble, "Except when you look at all the random shit the ministry classified as dark just because…"

Sufficiently distracted, she turned her attention back to the room in front of her. It more than doubled the other, with room enough for three sets of long lab tables and a large sink at the far end. Wooden cabinets with glass paneling held ingredients all around the room, some visible, but others had wide white labels that hid the contents. More crystals hung in this room, yellow rather than blue this time, and Harriet appreciated the thought that went into keeping the environment as pure as possible for brewing. Pushing open a door to her right revealed a mammoth supply closet filled with cauldrons and storing sticks and ladles of all metals. Hundreds of corked empty flasks sat stacked in crates, waiting to be used. Knives and sharpeners were neatly lined up in cases, of much better quality than the standard recommended for study at Hogwarts. 

Another thought came unbid into her mind.

_Why is everything so well stocked when there has been no one here to use it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Some of you may have noticed the homage joke to Doctor Who. This is not a crossover story, but I am a nerd, so there are tiny additives from many things. Enjoy them if you find them. This is the only one I'll blatantly point out.


	4. Trust the Process

A sharp slap of pain stopped his right hand before it could close over a breakfast sandwich. His hand swiftly retreated and he sulked, rubbing the red mark where her wooden spoon had landed. Ron knew better than to mouth off to the disapproving matriarch when she had already caught him.

“Three minutes, Ronald! You can wait at least that long.” Molly Weasley turned back to the stove where bacon sizzled delightfully. “Go call your brothers and sister in from the garden.”

He took one more longing look at the food as his stomach rumbled unpleasantly at being empty and stomped out the back door to the patio surrounded by overgrown shrubbery. Percy sat close by the door on an old stump stool. He didn't notice his brother appear as he furiously scribbled notes on the clipboard he held three inches from his face. Ron took the opportunity to shove at his older brother's head as he walked on to the back field, smearing the freckled face onto the still drying ink.

Percy’s black stained face came up sputtering, "Ronald! This is official ministry documentation, You prat! I spent all morning on that!"

Ron chuckled and waved a single finger over his shoulder as his brother’s admonition broke off into a choking fit of rage. He continued on, knowing his brother would go in to complain to his mother, and technically complete a part of his job.

The open field in front of him was surprisingly empty, so he scanned the treeline for any flash of red and resigned himself to waiting. Ginny broke through the leaves first, her entire body tucked to her broom aside from one arm that clutched the large leather quaffle close. The tail of her broom hit a branch, breaking it, and sending her into a tight corkscrew. She rolled with it rather than tempering it and used the best burst of speed the old Cleansweep could manage, to dart towards the rickety goal posts.

A shout of outrage came from the trees and another figure burst through the canopy. He dove and gave chase, but the effort fizzled after ten meters when Ginny, broom and all, dove through the hoop. Ginny performed a victory jig, dancing on her broom and holding the quaffle aloft as she floated towards Ron. 

“What do you say, Ronnikins? Want to team up with poor wittle William so that the teams will be fair?” She tossed him a crooked grin as Bill skidded up next to them.

“Oi! You nearly slammed me into a tree back there!” Their older brother tugged on a lock of her hair and used it to maneuver her off her broom and into a headlock.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go around being so friendly with trees!”

“Now you just aren’t making sense.” Bill’s lazy grin stuck to his face as Ginny fought with all her effort against the much stronger man. Ron’s smirk ballooned into laughter, caught in the energy of sibling rivalry. Ginny’s eye twitched at the mocking, and she dug her fingernails turned talons into the flesh peeking from beneath Bill’s shirt.

Her brother flinched violently aside, instinctively raising his arm to check his hip and allowing her to slip free with minimal hair pulling. She skipped out of reach and outstretched her hand to recall her broom. Though Ron’s obnoxious laughter had increased, she noted with pleasure that he seemed to be in her audience this time. 

“Breakfast...late...Mum gonna kill us.” He wheezed, still containing his laughter.

“WILLIAM, RONALD, AND GINERVA WEASLEY!” The shout boomed across the lawn.

“Shite.”

“Buggering arse.”

“If I make it in first, she’s your mother!” Ginny mounted her broom and the others took off after her towards the burrow.

True to Ginny’s word, when the boys came in out of breath after her, she smiled at them from her seat at the table and they were left with their mother. “Sit. Before your breakfast goes cold.” Her hands on her hips brokered no room for an argument and they rushed to comply. Ron shot his sister a withering glare, but she deflected, reaching over him for the jam.

Ron’s stomach growled and he forgot his frustration in the aroma of food. He picked up his fork in one hand and reached out with his left hand toward the plate of breakfast sandwiches. Eating the sandwich with his left hand, he took turns shoveling food onto his plate or into his mouth with his remaining arm. Bill, being accustomed to this behavior, tuned it out in favor of conversation with their father. Yet, the other family members could not help the tinge of green that colored their cheeks.

Flapping in the distance had the whole family instinctively covering their plates, fearing Errol would splatter feathers and food onto the floor. Instead a great barn owl came soaring through the open back door before landing primly on an open swatch of tablecloth between Percy and Ron. Immediately the older boy surged to grab the letter.

“Immediate ministry business I am sure. Of the highest-” He cut off when the owl nipped his incoming fingers and turned its large brown gaze to the youngest son.

“Mweh?” Ron garbled through a mouth of sandwich and bacon. The bird chose to confirm his poorly asked question by pilfering the large piece of bacon sticking out inches from his mouth and he reared back violently. The owl acted as if bacon french kissing a wizard could be a commonplace form of letter payment and smugly stuck out it’s leg.

“Go on dear, open the letter.” His nosy mother encouraged him from over his shoulder and Ron shrugged her off as he reached forward.

The parchment and seal clearly came from Hogwarts, yet the letter's address lacked the formality of the normal school letters. It was far too early for those anyway, summer had only just begun.

He stood, cracking open the wax seal and moved outside to read. The owl moved with him, but did not wait for his reply. His gaze drew first to the signature. Why would Dumbledore write to him?

_Ronald,_

_A matter of the utmost urgency has arisen. Please, forgive the brevity of an old man in these trying times. As one of the important figures in this matter, I may need to ask for your assistance in the coming days._

_Our dear girl Harriet has run from her caring home._

_The details are being worked on, and every effort is being made to find her, but for her safety from Voldemort, it is important she returns to her home as soon as possible._

_I believe Harriet may be acting under the influence of something darker than herself. In the coming days, she will need a friend to help her see the Light. Prepare yourself to heed my call when she is found._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_Of course._ She had done something reckless again. This kept with what Dumbledore had told him and Hermione at the end of the year. “Best if we limit our writing to Harriet this summer. There is much bonding she and her family need to catch up on, for her own health.” Hermione had been skeptical, but this proved it. Harriet’s loose cannon behavior needed to be grounded. The headmaster knew best.

A gust of wind picked up nearly blowing his letter away, his fingers clenched and glowed white with the effort. He puffed up his chest and turned, seeing his mother’s puzzled expression.

“The headmaster chose _me_ for a task, Mum. I have to be prepared.”

]|[

Perching on the rooftops of London created an abysmal task. Smog made the air much harder to breath than if he could soar through the countryside. The view would not be terrible, were the hawk actually allowed to zone out and look at it. 

But the prey. The prey of London had lost all their natural instincts. He had remained still for five Helga damn minutes and they were already buffeting into his space. Wings jostled him in his brooding, pigeons shuffling closer, burrowing into his feathers, climbing on top and in between his talons.

His patience snapped.

His wings flared and a screeching call pierced the air as pigeons scattered in all directions. The hawk did not move to leave the rooftop, rather it hunkered down, staring into the square lined with tall buildings.

Two humans were meeting, one had been waiting for some time, longer than any could construe to be normal or appropriate, and the other looked especially displeased to be meeting the man in the lumpy trench coat. The newcomer had short hair that seemed to weave between colors. They glanced up at the scuffle on the rooftop but disregarded it as birds flying away. After a short exchange in which Lumpy Trench Coat shook his greasy head and shrugged, he stood to leave. The woman waved her wand at the bench, then slouched down on it herself as her hair settled on pink and pulled out a thick book.

The hawk fluttered and shuffled uneasily as a soft ringing reverberated in it’s brain. With an intensity unlike an average bird, it stared directly at the tall house marked with a twelve and then hopped to the center of the rooftop.

Feathers receded swiftly as the hawk itself began to grow. The beak lost its cruel curve, softening and morphing into flesh. Talons flattened and broke, bleeding together and building thicker harder bones beneath softer smoother flesh. Panting, a naked man knelt in the center of a rooftop in London. He pushed the dirty blond hair from his face and smoothed his hand down the back of his shaved nape. Piercing blue eyes caught sight of the stashed pile of clothing, and the man quickly shielded himself from the world.

Rushing, he reached for his wand and spun, disappearing and reappearing with a small pop.

That hall he arrived in reeked of age. Every wall showed a hint of having once been grand but extreme decay and neglect left it a pale imitation. He pushed passed the entrance, moving quickly to greet the refined woman in the next room.

"Mother," his voice spoke softly, colorless as he bowed his head and knelt before the woman sitting on the couch.

"Tell me how you fared, Heir Befehl."

"There's an inhabitant, or maybe more, but I believe the other is a guest. The watchers outside are blind."

Her arm flew, but the man did not flinch. The teacup she had been drinking from lay shattered on the floor, tea staining the walls.

"Grandmother!"

A lanky boy halfway through his teens ran around the corner of an arch in the far wall, disregarding his kneeling father, and diving onto the couch with the woman. "My dear Klaus." She stroked his hair fondly and he gazed at her in simpering adoration. She returned her stare to her own son, "The only way that house has opened again after we helped end the life of the last blood is if another heir exists. Keep your watch, discover this heir, and we will finish our family’s work."

The boy looked up, a savage need to please tainting his eyes, "Can I help, Grandmother? I've never seen a dead Black."

]|[

“Ah HA!” A shout from the library sub-level open door caused Luna to raise her head from the texts she had spent the last several hours comparing. A triumphant Harriet emerged with two additional books and plopped them on to the desk beside her. They joined the several others that the black haired witch had relentlessly been searching for. Harriet used two hands to pull the bottom book clear and turn it so that Luna would be able to see it. The cover lay title-less, but the Black crest revealed more pertinent information. _Handle with care._

“Tata forced me to memorize every spell in this book. It’s ridiculous, half of them are stupid or lazy too! I mean, reinforcing the windows wasn’t a bad one, nor is the bug repellent ward.” She grudgingly admitted. “But some of these, like a ward that doesn’t allow live toads because one ancestor had a phobia? It’s silly to spend magic on that.”

Luna laughed outright at the image Harriet presented. She pictured toads trying to follow people into the house, hopping at their ankles. “It’s remarkable how people actually believe that power negates fear. Even the strong are afraid of something.”

“It’s tradition to educate the family on adding wards to the home, and they’ve been continuing to do so for generations.” She brushed her fingers down the open pages. “It’s honestly difficult to think of anything else to add, but someday I’ll come up with something.” 

She started out of her sudden wistful mood and turned to Luna’s desk, “What have you been researching?” The piles of books on the other’s desk were daunting, two deep and three high, four columns sat neatly arranged, either already read or waiting to be explored.

“The dark arts half of Divination. There is so much more that can be accessed, particularly for one who has the Sight. Light divination only speaks to the individual, dark allows prediction when it comes to grander events, and groups that are larger than a single person.” Her smile held a methodical edge and her eyes were brighter. “I don’t know how well someone with a lack of sight could utilize it, but my research has only just started.”

“You know, for having terrible experiences with divination, that actually sounds interesting when you talk about it.” Her words left Luna with a gleam in her eye and Harriet chose that moment to strategically retreat back to her desk. Her friend allowed it, but an undertone hovered without words. _They would address that flicker of interest._ Harriet broke the eye contact abruptly. She had a significant amount of blood magic to read up on, anyway.

Three books later, she had managed to find the magic that Dumbledore had always used to guilt her into returning to her relatives house and it screamed _bullshit._ Harriet seethed and her fingers ached for a beater’s bat. The magic itself was quite clever, had she been brought to Sirius, had he not been imprisoned, it may have worked flawlessly even without any of the wards on the Black’s townhouse.

Considering that she had grown up in the plastic suburban trap that _those people_ called home, she doubted the magic lasted much longer than her ability to learn to process the events around her. She herself would estimate that to be about age four. Four had been her earliest clear memories of accidents, of strange things followed by pain because she wasn’t normal. The most important part of the memory to the spell however, was the intense need to be anywhere else. That need that had driven her to one day appear on the neighbor's roof, with no way up and no way down. She had stayed there, huddled and hidden by the chimney, until the cats had shown her a way down. _No, magic that relies on feelings of comfort, safety, and home could not possibly exist in that place._

She pushed the books away, with a low _“finite”_ and watched as the library’s magic grasped them, smoothly replacing them on the shelves. She knew the intricacies for that particular blood ward now and though the other useful spells had been notated, she didn’t intend to sacrifice her life as part of a spell anytime soon. That book need not hang about.

She pulled forward a book concerning physical barriers, opened to a random page, and began to read.

It turned out magical barriers could come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. The theory involved solidifying magic into a solid form, disconnected from the body, and leaving it there. The counterspell could absorb the magic, or dissipate it, if the magic would be unlikely to blend well with the user’s. The true trick involved getting the magic into the form the user wanted. She started with building blocks, like she had seen her cousin use but she’d been forbidden from playing with. She focused on creating four uniform blocks, one at a time, one inch wide, a fourth an inch thick, and four inches tall. One at a time, fuzzy green rectangles took shape, then clarified and settled on the desk. The hand not holding her wand prodded. She giggled to herself as her fingers seemed to come into contact with tingling stone. She could see the swirling power in each green rectangle, but her fingers could not move through them. Her eye turned inward. The amount of magic it had taken to create four small rectangles was minimal. A drop she hadn’t noticed disappearing from a lake.

And so she began to create. First appeared a small crescent moon charm, then a flat image of a thestral. She put both of those in her pocket for later. She created a delicately stemmed lily. It’s spots were lost in the magic swirls, but the petals fell in the distinctive manner. She set it in the jar holding spare quills. The magic talked of it’s durability but it just seemed so _breakable_ in this form. She tried to create an image of Tata’s large black dog animagus, but it came off looking horribly cartoonish. Tata’s barking laughter did not fit this rounded creature at all. She muttered the counterspell to absorb the small green dog, giggling over her failure.

Turning away from the desk, she spun her wand in her hand trying to find inspiration in the room. Behind her, Luna shut her book and leaned back in her chair to watch. A book came gliding around the corner and Harriet threw up a barrier, a human wingspan wide in front of it. The book paused, trembling in the air for a moment, and then gently curved off its straight path and continued on. She huffed. It had been too cocky to believe one gut attempt could halt the intricately laced spellwork in the library. 

Another book came drifting by, this time she flicked her wand with more purpose. A green translucent sphere encircled the bound pages. When the magic sealed, the book dropped to the bottom of the container, having been cut off from the magic formerly directing it. Shocked at her success, Harriet murmured the counter and watched the magic leak back towards her.

The book continued to drop until it landed with a thud on the floor and remained stationary. “I wonder…” She couldn’t help but breath. Three short steps brought her within arms length and her wand prodded the text with a murmured “finite.”

Like the rest of the books in the room, it rose to continue its previous path and drifted on. Harriet moved back to her desk lost in her thoughts.

“That could have very striking effects.” Luna’s voice jolted her train of thought into audible words.

“Yes, I think so. I have to wonder if a patronus could find someone who was completely encased in another’s magic.” She began to spin her wand again and suddenly stopped bolting up in laughter. “Holy shite!”

“Yes?” Luna had become far too accustomed to these outbursts to be overreacting.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually _studied_ the patronus charm.” Her barking laughter increased. “My knowledge is based entirely on what Lupin taught me and my own practical application.”

“To be fair, perhaps that is the best way to learn it. You did teach more students a successful corporeal patronus in one year than any other teacher, including Dumbledore, in the last hundred years.” Luna said this like she had commented on water dripping from a leaking tap.

“That’s a little alarming...Wait, Dumbledore taught Defense?” 

“Oh yes, quite a long time ago. He was very different back then. Now tell me of this barrier spell. I want to try.”

Soon light purple swirling shapes of all sorts had joined her green blocks and lily. Something that looked particularly like an armadillo with antlers and an additional set of horns appeared, but Harriet laughed it off as Luna continued to create. She smiled, thinking of a project for the small charms tucked away in her pocket.

]|[

“The divination is strong with this one,” Harriet mocked in a deep voice, circling her flattened palms around Luna’s bowed head. She dropped the impersonation and slid into the seat next to her. Kreacher bustled about the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner and it smelled _heavenly._ The added amusement of seeing him clamor on and off of the stools arranged in front of the counters also did not hurt.

“I like that voice. Whom’s did you borrow?” Luna closed her book and pushed it to the side.

“It's some popular muggle movie. _That woman_ always screamed and turned off the telly when it was on. But I liked it. There were always flashes of light and weird things happening in outer space.”

“Yes, normal has lost its appeal by now.”

“Whatcha reading?”

_“ _Di_ vining through the Dark Arts. _ It’s an excellent read. Would be great for students, if anyone bothered to teach a balanced curriculum. Granted, I think they should instate tryouts for Divination.” Luna completely bypassed the shell shocked look the dark haired witch gave her. “Speaking of, where do you stand on NEWT Divination?”

“Nope.” The lack of hesitation created a cheery _popping_ sound as her mouth closed. “No more interpreting nightmares that I am not having, no more prophecies, no more threats of ominous death. That is not in the cards.”

“Well, I can’t ask that, but you were interested when I talked about it.” Luna countered.

Harriet felt an eyebrow on her smug face twitch. _Fuck_.

“What if I tutor you? I will teach you everything you need to know, and if you feel confident in it, you’ll take the NEWT test at the ministry.” Luna being logical sucked. “It’ll be easy, you have an aptitude and as long as you haven’t failed anything, no one will ever know.”

Harriet nodded reluctantly, and the blonde beamed. Thankfully Kreacher’s heralded arrival halted any further convincing, “Dinner is being ready! Please be eating up!” He snapped his fingers and dishes bounced off the counter and spun towards them. Empty plates, cups, and clean silverware landed with musical clinking. A parade of serving platters floated behind. The mouthwatering aroma of a steak dinner spread over the table top and the three tucked in. Harriet enjoyed her little family dinners, as unusual as they were. It had taken her serious effort to convince Kreacher to sit at the dining room table with them, but with only three in the house, Harriet preferred it this way. For dessert, Kreacher surprised them both by making angel food cake, and she felt touched that the elf had taken the effort to learn Luna’s favorite dessert. 

“Will you continue Care?” Luna turned the conversation back to school as they finished up with dessert. “Somehow I bet you’re one of two Gryffindors Hagrid will have a chance of teaching.”

A pang of guilt shot through her at the idea of the idea of the half giant. Her face twisted into a grimace and she swallowed a large bite thickly. “I think three years of running for my life on school property has been plenty, actually. Besides, I enjoy taking care of the thestrals, but I don’t think my future career goals are going to include Care. McGonagall is on my case about that too.” She turned from her empty plate, twisting on the bench and leaning against the table. Her arms folded defensively. “There are so many options that no one ever tells you about, but everyone expects me to be an auror.”

The witch beside her snorted and slammed her glass down. Harriet glanced over in time to see Luna laughing amidst her coughing as she tried to keep water from flowing from her nose. Kreacher rushed over from the dishes, a clean cloth in hand, hovering like a useless mother hen. “That’d be...terrible,” she barely managed to choke. You’d never...share...the take-downs!” She devolved into giggles that quickly infected the other witch as the coughing finally abated.

“Yeah, yeah. Hero complex. I just said I didn’t want that!” She threw her hands up defensively, but the smile did not leave. She tried to shift the focus, “Do you have any plans?”

Luna responded with a patented dreamy smile and with anyone else it would have worked. But Harriet could see the sharpness in her eyes. “I’m just a young fifth year, no one expects me to have any plans.”

“You’re terrible.”

Smugness met her comment, and she grabbed the divination book as they walked out of the kitchen together and up to the library. Harriet knew she probably had contingency career plans for every future outcome, but she envied the outer display she portrayed. That attitude of nothing affecting the blonde did not mesh with the turmoil of emotions constantly broiling too close under the surface of her own skin. She could however respect their differences, and for that she felt grateful. Luna balanced her.

The sun had set as they were in the kitchens, and by the time they entered the library the entire room loomed in shadow. Harriet had asked Kreacher to not light any of the candles or the lanterns tonight and the only light came from the hearth warming the room and the glowing ceiling. With only the one other light source, it shone brighter then than it had any night previously. 

By that glow, the duo walked up the staircase to the landing before it split to either side. From there, they divided their tasks. One focused on summoning three mattresses from the bedrooms across the hall, then blankets. The other summoned nearly every pillow in the house. The mattresses arrived first, forming the base layer of the nest and a swarm of cushions followed nearly sticking in the doorway. They landed in a massive pile and Harriet enjoyed diving into the mountain as Luna focused on the incoming blankets.

Arranging the accommodations for the next two nights became endless fun that easily devolved into pillow fights. After a quick run to change out of day clothes and into silky fabrics, they nestled in and laid gazing at the ceiling. The moon must have been very bright that night, and every crystal glittered clearly in it’s position charting the stars above.

“Of course Draco has to be one of the most visible.” Harriet chuffed. “Showy just like the boy.”

“He didn't get to pick where his constellation sat, Silly. Blame his parents.”

“Speaking of parents,” Harriet’s reluctance made her pause, “Didn’t you want to spend more time with your father this summer?”

“Daddy has gone on a voyage. We saw each other for a couple days. He is investigating the South China Sea.”

“A new species?” Luna’s more wild idea’s often came from her father, but Harriet wasn’t convinced they were all crazy.

“Oooh, yes!” She wiggled in the cushions in excitement. “Father believes a magical shark has begun taking revenge on shark fin fishing boats.”

“Sorry...What…?” Pretty much nothing of the last sentence made sense to Harriet. The only time she had ever even seen the ocean had been her uncle’s attempt to escape _letters._ Granted, she knew what sharks were, but despite having the giant squid for a neighbor for five years, she had not really thought about magical creatures in the ocean. _Merlin, that was naive_.

Luna continued mid explanation on a practice that seemed rather barbaric, all for a soup just because it bought status. It reminded Harriet of talking to Charlie Weasley about dragon poachers. She flinched at the idea of so much slow death. “I hope it exists.”

“Hm?”

“The creature your father is looking for. I hope it exists, and I hope it has enough sentience to be taking action.”

“Yes. Me, too.” She reaffirmed firmly.

A lull in the conversation left them in silence with the melancholy hanging over them. Harriet, ever awkward with her own emotions, could only stand it for so long. “Which is your favorite?”

“I have two.” Luna said after a moment, “But we can only see one of them. Lyra is right there.” She pointed to a small cluster, nearly outshone by the brightest crystal at the head of the tiny constellation. “I’ve always found it to be a particularly beautiful name.”

“It is very pretty. It goes well with Luna, too. What’s the other?”

“Pavo. It means peacock. But that one is on the other side.” Harriet couldn’t stifle her giggle and Luna continued on. “I’ve got a good feeling about that one.”

“Whatever you say. You’re normally right anyway.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Tata’s. The whole ‘name your kid after a constellation thing’ leaves some pretty strong reminders.” Her voice began to break. “I was hoping to see his stars tonight, but I guess they are on the other side, _too_.” The sensation of dust in her eyes came upon her and she knew she could finally allow herself to cry. Quietly, she excused herself and walked down the flight of stairs, clutching a blanket around her shoulders. She appreciated Luna giving her the space she needed as the tears did not wait for her to reach the long fireplace. They began to flow freely, bringing choking sobs bursting from her chest when her breathing stopped working naturally.

For a while she sat in front of the fire and cried. Thinking of Sirius’s abrupt entrance into her life, and how mangy he had looked that day. How knotted his hair had still been over a year later when they had been able to reacquaint in person. She cried for one more chance to have Tata run a comb through her hair, pulling it out by the roots when he had wanted to take care of his daughter, like she had helped him. His wicked grins, his pranks, his lessons, his love, his life. All of it walked through her mind and had been with her throughout this whole process. He had been right. The Black method of mourning did come across as unconventional, but effective. Bettering yourself did have you remembering them in every step.

She hiccuped. The tears had dried, but her breathing still raced abnormally. Tata was gone. Dead. She had watched it, and he would not want her to let his death mark her as a mess for the rest of her life. So she tucked his smile away for herself and she pushed that damn veil and the horrors it contained to the recess of her brain. 

Her heartbeat came back to her slowly and she took an additional couple of minutes to level herself out. Standing she walked back towards the stairs. Luna had remained alert in her absence and understood that words were not needed. She reached up, offering her hand and opening her arms. Harriet smiled gratefully, collapsing into the embrace of the other, her eyes thankfully dry. With a clear resolve one thought echoed through her head before she let herself succumb to exhaustion.

  
She would fight with all her power to protect her remaining family. _No one will ever take my sister._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter as I was not intending to post this for another...2 weeks? At the least. But hey, shite worked out early.
> 
> Kudos are very appreciated as are comments!


	5. Of Family and Diagon Alley

“So, The Black Fortnight’s days of family. Is there anyone else you think you need to invite?” Luna asked as she buttoned up black haired witch’s dress robes. 

“I thought about inviting Lupin. I know how close he was to Tata.” This topic seemed to overwhelm Harriet. Her hands moved from her sides to fidget in front of her.

“Would that be for you or for Sirius?” She always said his name with a great deal of reverence. Even when remembering his prankster days.

She hedged, “I don’t know.”

“Then, just do for you.”

Its simplicity rang of a very ‘Luna’ solution, but the advice did help. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. And as for Ron and Hermione…” That lack of trust in her still ached. Their disregard for her at the end of fifth year, telling her they wouldn’t write because Dumbledore had thought it best. She couldn’t claim to be over that. It felt like the debacle with the Goblet of Fire all over again.

Harriet sat on the padded bench as Luna finished. She watched her dance about with a green dress, comparing it to several sets of tights. Harriet weighed her next words on her tongue, testing the feelings behind them. She wanted to be clear headed, but frustration often boiled over towards the two Gryffindors. 

Her voice did not waver when she finally spoke, but confronting the matter left the volume low. “I don’t think they make me better anymore.” She paused for a long moment, wringing her hands to search for the words. “At one point, they brought good qualities out in me. Ron was my first friend, and Hermione has helped me to push myself out of my comfort level. Like when I ended up teaching the DA. But...Ron is very quick to turn on you when things no longer go his way. With me, with the twins, even with Hermione. If he perceives an injustice against himself he lashes out first and asks questions later. No... I can’t consider him family anymore.”

Luna settled on the bench in front of her, the silver of her tights shimmering under her mint green dress. She prodded the witch clad in black to continue with her confession. “And as for Hermione?”

Frustration leaked in without Harriet’s consent. “Hermione believes so much in authority that it swings straight past being a teacher's pet and into a little bit alarming. The first thing she learns about _anything_ is the correct thing. Whether it is a wand movement, an incantation, or someone’s reputation. Changing her perspective is not easy, and that would be good on some things. But Hermione will not compromise or adapt. Take SPEW, Dobby loves it, and he thrives with those circumstances. _Maybe_ there are more like him, but she isn’t satisfied with finding those individuals. She wants to change the life of every single houself regardless of if they do or do not want what she is offering. None of us have convinced her of the fear she creates in them when she speaks her plans. And she doesn’t believe the veracity of their own words when they defend themselves! She just claims them to be brainwashed.” 

“And you think them unlikely to change.” The matter-of-fact tone resonated.

One deep exhale brought her energy back down. “Perhaps.” She leaned back and the corner of her mouth pulled down in a grimace. “Overall, those just aren’t influences that I find healthy anymore. Tata and I did talk about some of this. He told me that sometimes it’s for your own well being to outgrow people or habits, but that it is something to be done with serious thought. If they ever did change, it is better that they change for themselves, and not because I forced it to satisfy the guilt of not saying goodbye.”

Harriet reached out her hand toward Luna, and felt the comfort and relief wash over her as the other so easily returned the gesture of affection. Even though she had decided this one, the prospect of more loss did not appeal. She supposed even under any other circumstance it would have created a similar weight in her stomach.

“They won’t like it much. But I will always stand by your side.”

“As if I would let you leave!” She nudged Luna and smiled at her pretend look of shock. Luna held it for another moment before she beamed back as well. 

“Never gonna be a worry.” She said in her knowing way. “What’s on the Fortnight schedule for today?”

“Since it’s the family pair of days, we don’t have any set plans until dinner. But tonight, we are going to have Tata’s favorite.”

“I recall that Sirius never cared for anything too fancy.”

“Nope.” Despite his formal upbringing and attire, he did always hate formal meals. Harriet used their linked hands to pull Luna up from the bench. In a terrible impersonation of his voice she grandly proclaimed, “To a bar we shall go and procure ourselves the finest of the shite food they serve!”

]|[

Elphias Doge snorted into his glass. The man on the stool next to him had been caught up in another rousing attempt to seduce the young barmaid that the old hunchback had hired. In his drunken stupor, he had fallen backwards off his stool and landed firmly on his arse. The slip of a girl appeared barely out of Hogwarts, and the man could not hold on to a shred of composure.

They were all children compared to himself. He hiccupped, causing beer to slop over the rim of his glass. His oldest friend sent him to monitor children. He took another long swig, only to pout when the liquid stopped flowing. He pushed his mug forward and pounded his hand onto the bar right amidst the sticky puddle of beer, demanding another round.

The Leaky Cauldron's normally drab interior overflowed with patrons this evening. Though Elphias did not understand why that had changed from the other nights of his watch. He skimmed the room as he waited for the barmaid to refill his beer. More company meant much less drinking for himself. 

He didn’t think he’d been the only Order member who sat this watch at the bartop. His first night had been spent disillusioned in the corner booth before he realized how ridiculous this whole assignment was. The drinking after that came easily. The owner, Tom, plopped his mug down in front of him and he cheered the man. Toasting to him and to the fortune of his bar. In a better mood, he began to make his way around the room. 

He stopped first by a table of old hags who had aged quite nicely, _for what they are_. They had set up a game of knucklebones and were attempting to haggle just about any face that came by the round table. Elphias, feeling warm from his many beers, did gamble a galleon with the crones. The two beside him were flirtatiously handsy, which only added to the warmth within him. He left their little group with his purse strings jingling particularly lighter than when he had arrived, but his ego had been stroked too far to notice.

Some ministry wizards were drunkenly singing along to a wireless, and while he enjoyed their performance, he could not be tempted to join. He passed pockets of young couples who had stolen away in booths and were participating in acts that _children_ should have had the decency to put from their heads, particularly in public. His sweep of the pub brought him to the other side of the lengthy bar where he set about getting himself another refill.

“I said another! I am perfectly sloberr-” He slurred his words. “I have the coin to psay, so why don’t you do as you’re tohld, _my dear girl_.”

A frisson of energy surged from his right. Magic, invisible to most patron’s naked eyes, arched through the air. It struck viciously at a central point on the beer mug Elphias held aloft, shattering the glass. A thick shard gouged a divot in the man’s palm, causing him to startle and drop the intact handle. Oblivious to the true cause of the incident, the surrounding patrons cheered loudly while he turned to the young dark haired thing next to him.

“Donno my trwu strehngth.” Said with a sloppy grin, completely missed the tension in the witch’s shoulders. 

Behind her a blonde girl of similar age holding a large bag of take away food called to her. “Harriet it’s not a good idea. Let’s go!”

That name drifted through the fog in his mind. Harriet Potter. He needed to talk with her. Albus had desperately been trying to meet with her. He would reunite them! He stepped forward excitedly. Behind him the barmaid looked up sharply. This man had caused some ruckus on previous nights, but nothing this over the top.

“I’ve fishally found yous! Come with-”

“ _Stupefy.”_ The whisper and small jet of red light did not attract much attention as it crossed the meter and a half distance it took to reach the drunken man. His grip slackened from the tense girl who had left the barmaid a rather sizeable tip for the take out. She happily helped the other out. She looked not too much younger than her, but she had steel in her eyes and did seem vaguely familiar. A prefect maybe? She turned her gaze back to the old man crumpled on the floor. She would let the girl clear out before she levitate him out into the alley so he could sleep it off there. He wouldn’t be doing much of anything tonight. Hopefully tomorrow when he awoke, he would think twice about assaulting witches seventy years his junior.

]|[

A long groan echoed through the bathroom, the tail end of it actually coming out in English. “...The man had an iron stomach!”

Muffled laughter and the tinkering of glass came from the air next to her, but Luna pulled the blanket closer around herself and snuggled further into the unmalleable porcelain she had slept within. Her head spun, her stomach rebelled even though she _knew_ it to be empty. _Nothing_ could have survived inside it after her repeated greeting of the bathroom facilities the night before. She groaned again. _Thank Rowena Harriet left the lights off._ She wouldn’t be able to handle those as well.

“I don’t think Tata ever tried mixing greasy bar food and gigglewater to that excess. Drink.” A hand grasping a chilly vial pushed the potion through her blanket cocoon and Luna's head ached as she moved to grasp it. The cold felt so nice against her palm and she sighed, pressing it to her clammy skin. Reluctantly she relinquished the relief in favor of popping the stopper and downing its contents.

More pressure began to build in the base of her skull as her headache coalesced there. However, Luna had taken several of these potions, and knew this to be one of many recipes Harriet knew by heart. She continued breathing through the increasing pain. 

“Your alcohol tolerance is ridiculously high, Harriet. You should be in this state, too.” She gave Harriet a petulant glare. It only increased at seeing the easy way she slouched forward, sitting on the toilet lid with a smug smirk.

“We couldn’t have that. Then no one would be able to brew hangover potions for us!” Luna opened her mouth to reply but moaned as the second phase of the potion began. The built up pain moved from her skull down her spine and then dispersed along her muscles, taking any lingering ache and leaving a tingling buzz in its wake.

Harriet waited until Luna had righted from the effects of the potion. Sarcastically, she added, "You might be able to tolerate this much if you had drank with Tata more. Twice doesn't build the necessary stamina."

Luna, feeling better than ever from the potion, grimaced in response. "You barely made it out alive some of those times!"

"But I did, and those experiences were excellent!" Beaming she added, "Besides, Fred and George fared far worse than I. No one ever caught me sleeping on the stairs."

The blonde stood, dusting the wrinkles from her green dress. "That's because you have a lucky charm for finding a bed. Usually mine." With that she moved through the door, eager to leave the bathroom and forget the foggy events from the night.

“Kreacher has set up breakfast tea in the drawing room, it's nearly noon.” Harriet called, catching up to her and bobbing at her side cheerfully.

They descended the stairs together to the second floor where Kreacher had indeed arranged for tea. The gentle aroma of earl grey tea floated through the room, accompanied by the mild and sweet flavors of the foods laid out to accompany it. Such a soothing offering struck a pange of hunger in Luna’s empty stomach, and time passed in companionable silence as they tucked in. The conversation turned to trivial matters after the ache from drinking passed. They discussed new spells they had discovered in their readings, Harriet’s mishap in the potions lab when she used the wrong cauldron, and what errands they would need before returning to Hogwarts.

Luna had just been asking about muggle lingerie stores when a deep pounding knock resounded through the bottom floors of the estate. Walburga’s painting from below instinctually screamed at the presence of a stranger, and Harriet ran to wrestle the curtains back in place while Luna peaked through the drawing room windowpane. The screaming from below stopped in record time, but the damage had been done.

Three heads of starkly different colors looked up from the porch towards where the screeching had begun and just as suddenly halted. The white of Albus Dumbledore contrasted sharply with the auburn hair of Hermione Granger who leaned quickly to the blazing redhead beside her. A woozy feeling attempted to overcome Luna, and she saw flashes of that stark red and felt terror accompanying it, but knew nothing of the context for the sudden vision. Harriet pushed beside her, and it pleased her to know her sister was intelligent enough to not open the door.

“He’s brought half the warriors in the Order.” The words dropped flat from her lips and Luna froze.

_Fucking blibbering humdingers._

“Nymph, Moody, Shacklebolt, even Remus. They’re all in the square.” Harriet bit out. “It’s that drunkard from the bar. Fucker must have snitched to Dumbledore.” She slammed her hand flat to the window and the curtains burst aside, revealing them in a flurry of cloth that whipped at their ankles. The magicals in the square registered the sudden movement immediately.

True to her sister’s words, the three aurors and the ex-professor were positioned at the edge of the square. They stood at ease, not comfortable, but not yet braced for a fight. Between them and the porch - in a stark contrast to their dueling robes - the man from the bar last night preened, draped in overly expensive high society furs. 

Dumbledore arched his head back, when Harriet threw the window above the door open. He took several steps back in retreat at either her energy, or to relieve the angle on his neck. A vindictive part of Luna hoped for it to be the first. Dumbledore addressed his assembled audience first.

“Harriet, my dear girl.” Luna saw the flinch ripple through Harriet’s back and she pressed her fingers there to lend support. “It’s so good to see you safe and whole.”

Her response landed like hardened steel. “Is that why you have assembled your militia? Is the drunken pervert your secret strategic weapon?” 

Ron’s reedy voice shot up from Dumbledore’s side and he seemed to be trying for humor. “It’s a search party you daft bint!” He looked at Harriet, hopefully, and when she only glared back, his gaze flickered to Hermione who had gasped harshly at her words.

“Really, Ron? And have you been scouring the city for long? Tell me, where did your search start? My relatives house? The Leaky? The local park? Or did you come directly here, without doing any searching at all, because someone told you I was here?” She let her berations overwhelm him and felt her opinion drop lower when he turned to the headmaster for assistance.

Hermione rushed to his aid. “You’ve been endangering yourself! We had to come get you.”

“How?”

Hermione’s face froze and she stuttered. “W-what?”

Harriet repeated herself through gritted teeth. “How have I endangered myself?”

“By going dark!” The volume of the response did not disguise her lack of confidence in it.

Luna saw a minute shift in Harriet’s face, and she knew the moment that the exchange had become a game. “Incorrect,” the black haired girl replied, causing a violent red to bloom upon Hermione’s cheeks. _She never could accept being told she was wrong from a teacher…_ Harriet continued on, “I have not been in danger, I have been in seclusion with my family, mourning my father. Something of which none of you,” she looked particularly hard at the headmaster, “Have any legal right to interrupt, unless there is an exigent circumstance.”

Ron’s temper flared, pointing at Luna he spat, “That kid isn’t your family Harriet! Hermione and I are!”

Luna stepped out from behind Harriet to her side as she felt the magic that always coiled around her frame strike towards the table behind them. Perfectly summoned, the teapot slapped into the palm of her hand and the lion leaned forward out of the window sill. With one slow deliberate motion, she upended the pot over Ron’s head and let the contents soak onto his shoulders. She even went through the effort of shaking out the last couple drops. Her voice had hardened once more. “You should not speak of things you do not understand.”

Hermione rushed to comfort Ron, attempting to mop up the sticky tea with her t-shirt. She opened her mouth to scold Harriet, but Dumbledore stepped forward. Luna did not have as much experience with him as Harriet did, but the Albus Dumblebore that seemed larger than life to so many was not the man Luna had ever seen. Her father had been skeptical of him, not against him, but any man so strictly political yet not in a political position had a past and an agenda. That day, Luna imagined if anyone other than she and Harriet could see into those twinkling blue eyes, they would see the paths of those plans as well.

“Harriet, I’m very disappointed. Friends are to be treated with care and love. I see now that I was correct in my concerns. I feel it is only right as your guardian that I ask you to accompany me,” he gestured to the seasoned men and woman behind him. “We will ensure your safe passage back to your home, and you have our gratitude for reinstating the headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix. Of course, we will be sure that you arrive home safely as well, Miss Lovegood.” His eyes twinkled especially bright as he finished.

Harriet’s barking laugh startled the four adults standing in the square and the nearly forgotten pompous man, the familiarity of it brought an especially pained look to the werewolf’s eyes. Dumbledore did not flinch like the others, but a shadow of unease flickered in his eyes.

Her icy laughter trailed into her words. “I’m never stepping foot in _that place_ again. I’m surprised they would even want me! Unless of course...you convinced them to, eh, Albus? And this is the Black Family Estate. It has nothing to do with the Order, which you would do well to remember. As I stated before, this family is in mourning. If you have nothing of a legal matter, we have no further business.” She moved to grasp the window frame and Luna mirrored the other side.

Dumbledore pulled something from his pocket, “As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I do have a legal matter.” The sisters halted. “If you would just allow me inside, I can deliver your letters to you-”

Luna spoke up for the first time in the very public disagreement. “We would rather not. _Accio.”_

The parchment ripped from the headmaster’s confident grip and flew towards her raised wand. Harriet’s seeker instincts kicked in, lifting her hand into the path that they would travel. As the letters crossed the warding lines of the home, they stuttered, and a thin blue layer of magic peeled from them, landing on the pavement at the headmaster’s feet. The letters continued their path, now unburdened by the parasitic magic, and Harriet caught them with ease.

“You would try to curse a student?” Her eyes flashed and with the heir’s rising anger, the wards around the house began to crackle. Luna watched in awe as Harriet used her surge of anger to push the wards out from the home’s brick walls until they met the fencing around the front garden. They moved slowly, allowing those in the courtyard to back at their own pace or be forcibly moved. The headmaster, two students, and the stranger from the bar were all driven down the path and from the property where they were deposited ungracefully into the square.

Her sister spun, letting the house’s wards snap back into place and wandlessly slamming the window and curtains shut behind her. She tossed the letters down on the table and threw herself face down onto the couch before screaming into a pillow.

Luna had to agree. “Yep. Fuck Dumbledore.”

]|[

Harriet’s scream sucked her emotions out of her, or perhaps she misconstrued emotions for the sudden wave of exhaustion that crashed over her from her display of wandless magic. She should have picked one ward to bend, instead of bending them all, but she hadn’t been thinking. 

“Yep, Fuck Dumbledore.”

The unusually frank statement from her normally dreamy sister caused her to snort ungracefully into the pillow she still clutched. The couch dipped beside her and Luna’s fingers trailed through her hair. “I think you should eat something again, Harriet. You’re going to need some strength and possibly rest.”

Harriet pushed herself up on her elbows, reluctant to end the hair petting session. Luna continued, but shifted enough so that she could access the table with one hand. Luna hummed under her breath as she grazed, and she didn’t think the slight rise in her mood happened to be a coincidence. 

When she felt her hunger ebb, Luna spoke up. “Ron Weasley is not going to forget what happened today.”

Pain shot through her at the memory of that boy’s words. “Fuck him, too. He deserves more than a lukewarm teapot. You are my family. He has no idea what he is talking about.”

“He will likely never know,” she said in her knowing manner. “That's the way he chooses to process the world, he blocks out that which he disagrees with.”

“True…” Harriet rolled and looked towards Luna, her eyes catching on the letters she had tossed to the table. “Hey...What if we postpone the last Fortnight days and go to Diagon Alley? There were some supplies I lacked anyhow.”

“An excellent plan, but first,” Luna snatched the letters from the table. “Open up. Let’s see those grades, Lioness.”

]|[

“I can’t believe you failed. Seriously, History was one thing, you didn’t even finish the test. But my sister,” Luna paused in the middle of the bustling alley, forcing traffic to diverge around her to spin and face Harriet. “Divination, really?”

Harriet responded with humor in kind, but some exasperation leaked in. “For the fortieth time. You are far too amused, I just predicted my death. How was I to know that Trelawney’s method of grading deviates from the ministry? I excelled in her class with my blasted-end skrewt shite!” Harriet puffed in frustration and the blond threw her a look of sympathy.

“She is a terrible teacher.” They exchanged wide grins and set back off for the large marble building that shadowed half the alley at this early hour.

Despite the current state of the Wizarding World with the new public awareness of Voldemort’s return, Diagon Alley did not lack patrons. The significant deviations in the atmosphere from Harriet’s previous visits were the newer ministry posters hung up in shops with simplified headlines about policies the ministry had put into place to “enforce the safety of the public”. Tiny pop up shops had appeared, selling trinkets claiming to work as shield charms or even expensive ones that could stop unforgivables. Despite the obvious con occurring, traffic still fluttered around the stands. 

Gringotts loomed with its usual regal demeanor. The marble fortress, unlike every other building, was untouched by the current mania. Inside, the goblins still sat at their towering counters, working on one account or another until a client approached, and the echoing hall was kept to a respectful hush. The two approached a goblin in the center who had just finished with his task. 

“Identification.” The male spat.

Harriet placed her wand on the lip that ran the edge of the counter, and with a brilliant smile, Luna mirrored the motion. The goblin tapped each wand with a wrinkled, bony finger and Harriet resisted the urge to shift her feet impatiently. The goblin’s eyes widened and he looked over the counter at them once more before disappearing. Less than twenty seconds later a second goblin approached, walking from behind the counter. Harriet quirked her head at the first female goblin she had ever seen, but did not wish to display her attempt to gawk.

Her height ranged similar to the males of her species, and she seemed far younger than the white haired goblins that manned the front desk. Nonetheless, Harriet would wager the female in front of her counted as middle aged. Her brown hair pulled into intricate braids curling around her long ears and coiling in a weave at the back of her head. She stopped in front of them, her business attire shoes managing to not make a single sound as she traversed the length of the floor. With a slight nodding bow to Harriet, and an elegant turn of her wrists to return their wands, she spoke. 

“The wait should not have occurred, Heiress Black, Miss Lovegood. I am Alnura, the manager of the Black estate, let me show you to my office and from there we may handle any and all business you require.” She turned and walked with a slower pace than on her approach, leading them towards the tunnels where the cart tracks lay. Just before then, she veered into a larger archway to the side. Two more turns lead to a finely polished door made of blackened wood that contrasted strongly to the surrounding white stone. Alnura opened the door for them, gesturing them in before her.

Entering the office brought warmth and caution at the exact same time. The furniture had an air of opulence to it and the cushions obviously were of high quality material, similar to the rug that bore the weight of the desk set. However, each piece had a small piece of damage that corresponded far too well to the throwing knives on display where a nameplate might sit in a ministry office. A curtain of chainmail hung over the fireplace mantle and the weapons served to compliment the predominantly black color scheme. Harriet felt her respect for Alnura heighten as the sisters sat before the desk.

“How may I assist your houses today, Heiress Black?” The goblin female asked after seating herself and clearing an area on her desk. 

Harriet’s brow wrinkled in confusion at the address. She had thought it an error the initial time, but the female seemed so sure. “I think there has been a mistake, my surname is Potter, not Black, despite my godfather’s blood adoption.”

Alnura grinned widely, revealing her canine dentition. “No mistake, Heiress. Gringotts may reside within Diagon Alley, but this is goblin soil. Wizard law, custom, and even right of naming have little hold here. In Gringotts it matters not what one calls themselves, but rather how their gold identifies them. Your largest account belongs to The Ancient and Noble House of Black, therefore your title within these halls is Heiress Black until your ladyship is awarded or you grow an account to exceed that of the Ancient House.” Her grin sharpened, and Harriet could sense the female’s joy at the thought of managing an account larger than the already substantial Black Family’s.

Having had her protests stripped from her, Harriet gave in to the authoritative goblin. Choosing instead to continue with the business that originally brought them to the bank, she gestured to Luna. “We will each need to make a withdrawal from our vaults, my normal-” her words were cut off when Luna tugged on her arm.

“I have a feeling we will each need much more.” She spoke in a low voice, but did not try to keep her words private from the account manager.

“What kind of feeling?” 

Luna’s only response was a pointed look and a swirled wave of her hand. Harriet heard the unspoken words clearly. _You know, that future feeling._

Harriet directed Luna forward, more than happy to take a step back rather than playing an owl in the conversation. She pleased herself when her shock at the requested amounts did not register. Alnura departed the office after letting them know the gold could be fetched from their vaults for them, and she turned on her sister.

“Two thousand galleons? What the fuck are we going to need that for? Am I going on the run? I really don’t want to be on the run.”

“Each. And remember, details come when they are needed.”

“Sometimes I want to smack you.”

Luna laughed. “But then you remember you love me, and that kicking my arse in a duel would be much more fun.”

“That is fair. But two thousand? I’m not buying a new broom.”

Luna shushed her, and Alnura reentered carrying two surprisingly small black Gringotts pouches. She explained them to be extendable within, and that more gold could be added, before handing one to each. The witches tucked them into the pockets of their robes and followed the goblin female back to the central hall. 

With another head tilt, she spoke a final time. “May your gold ever grow.” 

“May your enemies tremble before you.” The witches’ answer in unison brought another fierce grin to her lips. They returned the nod, and their mirrored actions heightened the similarity in their bone structure and hair. If Alnura had not known differently, she would have claimed the two witches before her to be of the same blood. Their different hair styles, the blond curls flowing loosely, and the black waves pulled into a high tail, could not hide the thick locks that seemed so similar. Even their bone structure, though carrying different emotions entirely, resonated when both chose the same respectful nod towards her.

Harriet saw the spark of a question in the goblin’s eyes, but she turned rather than prying and disappeared back amongst the tunnels. Luna linked their arms together and walked into the sun streaming through the open doors. She raised her hand and shadowed her eyes as they paused in the final archway. “Where would you like to go first, Harriet?”

Their first stop brought them to a building marked Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. With no outside merchandise, any muggleborn might have been confused as to their inventory, but Harriet recalled purchasing her trunk at the same shop so many years ago. When they entered, storage forms of all colors greeted them, and a cheery sign pointed directions to each department from atop a pyramid of trunks. They followed the displays towards a wall that hung far too many options of bags.

They ranged from the higher end evening wear clutches for refined ladies and scroll carrying bags that would suit a first year fine, to heavy duty traveling packs meant for long distance journeys. A sign atop detailed prices for having extendable charms added to any purchase. They found themselves both drawn to the same style, a side bag geared toward regular travelers, or those that often carried work with them. Heavy duty fabric, but flexible, and with the option of adding extendable charms. Harriet, knowing them well, pulled a black one off the hooks for herself and hovered the silver down for Luna. 

Luna threw her a pleased ‘I told you so’ look when the total rang 100 galleons for each witch, but Harriet pretended not to notice. 

Darting to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, Luna shot her worried looks as she assembled ingredients into her basket. She got the chalk powder she needed for her ritual practice, and some odds and ends for potions, but didn’t bother restocking her basic ingredients. _Since Snape won’t accept anyone with Exceeds Expectations._ She sighed again and Luna bustled her out of the shop quickly. 

Flourish and Blotts became a welcome distraction, despite not needing to buy a potions book, and Harriet flitted about the store. She found an interesting book on healing, and saw a subject tab in the shelves marked “The Dark Arts.” Curious, she slid a shelf over and began to peruse the titles. After reading a few, she recoiled. Every title on the shelf celebrated the idea that the dark arts innately were evil and ought to be eradicated. _10 Steps to Keep Your Home Free of the Dark, Defeating the Dark,_ and _Those That Fight for the Light_.

Taking her basket with her, she turned from the sickening sight. She suddenly felt far too alone. She moved aisle after aisle and came to find her sister standing in the checkout line. _Perfect._ Harriet rushed in behind her and whispered in relief, “There you are!” 

“What happened?” Luna’s purple eyes were instantly sharp. She reached her empty hand out and Harriet gratefully clasped it, Luna’s fingers felt overly warm on her own and she knew she couldn’t hide her chill.

“Felt alone.” She breathed, low enough for the person being checked out in front of them to not hear a thing. Luna squeezed her fingers in return and left the matter be.

Escaping the bookstore turned out to be exactly what she needed, despite her love for books. With a couple of deep breaths and no faces she recognized stopping to speak with them, she nodded and had recovered enough to continue. Luna packed their purchases into their new bags and then bustled them off again. 

They stopped off at the candy shoppe, as was their tradition, and bought far more than any adult would have allowed them before bowing back out again, giggling over their spoils. With every errand completed but one, they steered themselves toward Madam Malkin’s. The robe shop’s only customer exited as Harriet opened the door and the two witches entered into the empty store. She preferred it this way, for as popular as Madam Malkin and her seamstress abilities were, attempting a fitting in a crowded room left much to be desired. The weird sisters played faintly in the background and it reminded her that for as old as the shop’s history in Diagon Alley ran, Madam Malkin did look very young. Not even middle age.

“Come in, up you go.” The woman gestured the witches onto the plinths and measuring tapes sprouted from her wand. She exuded friendliness, but wasted no time getting down to business. “School robes, yes, anything else?”

Luna answered, unabashed, “Dress robes, Harriet will need a set of quidditch robes without the captain band, and we would like a look at your selection for lingerie.”

Madam Malkin blinked at them, but did not drop her customer smile. “Without the band?” She questioned.

Harriet grit her teeth in frustration as she recalled the note from Dumbledore written on a separate page within her Hogwarts letter. “The Headmaster has rescinded the responsibility, claiming among other things, that I am taking too many NEWTs for the duty.” _The lying wanker._

Malkin appeared to override her shock and chose not to pry further as she wagged an affirmative finger at them and set to work.

The tape measures finished quickly, and once she had their measurements and color choices for dress robes, she led them to a side corner where a rack of floor length nightgowns and covers hid the undergarment section from view.

“If there is anything you need, let me know.” She smiled kindly and headed back to the front area to finish with their order.

It was immediately apparent to Harriet how differently her view of lingerie existed. Having grown up with muggle zippers, she thought deserting those had been a change, but the intimidating sight in front of her presented a whole new gambit. Wizarding lingerie appeared to be stuck in the era of corsets and tie _everything_ up with fucking ribbons.

“Ah, no.” Harriet kept her voice low enough that it only traveled to Luna. She gestured vaguely to the white frilly corsets. “I’m not trying any of that on. There’s no way I’m lacing myself into something every morning, or having someone else do it for me.” 

“It could be good for those special occasions.” Luna wiggled her eyebrows at her and she snorted in return.

“My closest encounter to a ‘special occasion’ was with Justin Finch-Fletchley, and that ended with him in tears. The only other things that could qualify are dreams about a diary that we can’t talk about here.” Hopeless frustration twisted her face and her eyes stug with the familiar overwhelming itch. “I have a better chance of getting my captaincy badge back than being in need of old timey lingerie with the intent to use it.”

“Well, you never know…” But Luna did not push past her vague comment.

Harriet turned towards the rack of covers and night gowns, looking for darker colors. Anything green or black or even just more her style. The seamstress could probably create a new piece with other fabric, if she picked an existing style. Her fingers touched on a black sleeve that she knew she had to buy without even knowing what it looked like. She pulled its hanger from the rack and a long black cover trailed after it. The chilly fabric hung long in the back and shorter up front, but had lengthy sleeves, and it looked enormously comfortable. 

Throwing it over her arm in a decisive motion, she waited for a moment while Luna checked everything else over and returned empty handed. 

“Nothing to your liking?”

“You were right, too many frills, though I’m not against the white.” Luna replied.

“That’s because you come out looking like an angel, whereas I look on the verge of death.”

“On the verge isn’t actually dead. We can work with ‘ _nearly dead’._ ”

“Luna, I’m pretty sure using that logic is not going to build up my confidence. Not many wizards are going to find inferni attractive.” They approached the checkout counter where an assistant rang them up for their purchases and handed them the finished robes the owner had been working on. He apologized several times for the woman being with another set of customers, but neither witch minded.

As they were leaving, Luna spoke up. “You might like something in Twilfitt and Tattings, they are located just into Knockturn Alley, but they might have another type of selection.”

Harriet shrugged good naturedly and flicked her fingers ahead of them. “Lead on!”

They exited the shop, and heard the door’s bell ring again after them, but thought nothing of it. Just as they turned the corner into the darker street a harsh grip seized Harriet’s shoulder. Her step faltered, and she let out a cry of pain that startled those passing by in both streets, drawing the surrounding attention. She turned into the grip, then ducked under the arm, forcing her attacker to twist his own arm or drop her. Succeeding in loosening the iron hand Harriet immediately moved out of reach and faced the assailant. The sight brought cold fury washing to her heels.

“Ron? What the fuck?”

Ron and Hermione stood before her. He clenched his fist repeatedly as though he could still feel her skin beneath his fingers, and she resisted the desire to rub the ache in her muscle. 

Hermione piped up. “Well you obviously were ignoring us, we know you saw us in the shop.”

Harriet snarled at her derisive tone, but tried to stay calm as more public attention appeared. “I did not, as a matter of fact. Did you _possibly_ think to try _calling out my name_ before resorting to violence?” Hermione blanked and Harriet wanted to smack her.

“You don’t hear anything your family says anymore, you traitor. You’ve let this whore make you brainwashed.” The words from Ron’s mouth were practically their own daggers. He bent down to the streetside and picked up a loose brick. Harriet stood frozen as he charged. 

Luna pulled her arm, yanking her out of the direct path of Ron’s swing, but his arm had a very long reach. The brick made contact with her forearm, gashing into the muscle just below her elbow and the pain brought her voice back. _Who gives a fuck about a spectacle._

“KREACHER!” With a deafening crack he appeared behind Luna in Knockturn Alley, he had no time to process the moment before Luna slapped her hand into his and Harriet yelled “Home, NOW!” 

Another crack echoed through the alley junction, and Ron Weasley’s next swing passed directly through where Harriet Potter’s shoulder had been moments before.

]|[

Dust billowed from the alley junction as a second harsh crack echoed off the walls. Klaus Befehl hung at the back of the crowd, making up for his youth’s lack of height by perching on a stack of crates.

Conflict in the alley always ensured an amusing sight. If uptight British magicals were prepared to lose their collective composure, something good brewed beneath the surface. The moment he had seen Weasley causing the issue he abandoned his shopping, snuck away from his father’s side, and posted himself at a good vantage point.

The wait had been worth it. Klaus had never had anything against Potter, but chaos caused a pleasant buzzing rush within him. He grinned at the horror on her face and the stillness in her body, until the grin morphed into a snarl. The house elf that popped into existence at Potter’s command wore a black pillowcase with an ornate crest on the right breast. A crest he would know anywhere. Grandmother had spent countless nights speaking to him of the horrors of her childhood, of how those of that family had hunted her, scarred her, stolen her family from her. All because they had not accepted who she had loved. 

Klaus as a young child knew he would do anything to help Grandmother get her revenge. True, he had never harbored strong feelings, be they positive or negative, for Potter. But any Heiress of the Ancient House of Black had been an enemy he had declared a long time ago. Fingers clenched into the skin of his knee, drawing blood, but the boy never noticed any pain. His mind swirled, creating plans using the individuals he had seen today and thinking of what fun he could have as he watched them tear at each other's throats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 200 Kudos is so gratifying to see! Thank you all so much for the interest you are showing! This chapter is a whopping 16 pages. But I didn't want it even a single word shorter. 
> 
> I have several more chapters drafted so far and they seem to just get longer the further into the plot we get.
> 
> As always, Comment and Kudos are amazing, and read to your heart's content!


	6. Rituals and Paintings in the House of Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BEGIN:
> 
> I HIGHLY recommend pasting the following youtube link, or, if you hate links, looking up "Do the Hippogriff" by The Weird Sisters on your preferred music playing source. It enhances the reading of this chapter to listen to this song either prior to, or with this first section.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcbGu_t8Apw
> 
> On we go-

“One leaf of Venomous Tentacula, whole…” Harriet murmured to herself amidst the blaring music reverberating through the room. She tapped her foot and bobbed her head as lyrics rattled through the air and she dropped the individual leaf into the simmering iron cauldron.

“ _Boogie down like a unicorn...And no stoppin' till the break of dawn…”_

The liquid within turned from clear to a hazy grey as the leaf simmered and Harriet spun on her heel a full turn to double check the next ingredient.

_“Can you dance like a hippogriff?...Na na na na na na na na na…_

_Flyin' off from a cliff… Na na na na na na na na na..._

_Swoopin' down, to the ground… Na na na na na na na na na...”_

She smiled as memories of the Yule Ball scanned in front of her, pleased that she had found this specific Weird Sisters record in Flourish and Blotts. She floated the prepared puffpod seeds above the cauldron, careful to not touch them. Using magic she condensed them and watched the juices flow into the cauldron. Immediately she began to stir, knowing the puffpod sap could very well sink and stick to the bottom if it remained separated for long.

The record player in the corner switched the record to one that Krum had once recommended to her and Harriet had to limit her head-banging to the thrumming drums as she brewed. Snape would be appalled at her standard brewing environment, she couldn’t help but laugh. Sharp squeals of guitar and guttural voices drowned out the excess thoughts that normally flooded her. The liquid within the cauldron had turned the proper shade of purple and Harriet knew the final ingredient needed to be added. She fished out the whole leaf, dropping it in the waste tray at her station and turned to the small wooden bowl filled with golden powder.

Her movements to the surrounding music completely halted as she handled her most precious ingredient, and carefully weighed out the proper amount. Spooning it into the potion, she watched the time dust swirl and slowly dissolve with the help of the toxicity from the Venomous Tentacula’s oils. The potion’s color shifted to a brilliant gold and thickened considerably. Harriet dampened the burner, resuming dancing with her success. 

She drew a knut from within the pocket of her potion robes - black fabric as always for her mourning. Her fingers positioned the freshly minted bronze coin quickly within a pair of iron tongs and then dipped it fully within the cooling potion. Minutes passed as she tapped her foot to the harsh beating of the drums sounding from the record. Finally after five long minutes when her arm had gained tingles from lack of blood flow, she switched hands and began to feed magic into the potion. Her raw magic swirled around her, green winds sinking into the liquid and seeking out the metallic disk. Only a minimal level of power flowed from her, just enough to attach a magical residue of her signature to the coin and then she once more pulled the whiskey scented wind within her core and bottled it up.

Pulled free from the thick golden liquid, Harriet dropped the knut onto a clean tray. A light “ _Aguamenti,”_ produced a small stream of water from Harriet’s wand and the potion residue washed from the metal. Unveiled from the cleaning, the formerly bronze coin now gleamed with a golden shine. 

“Odd.”

Harriet took one moment to think on the curiosities of the metal’s transmutation and then moved beyond it. She had much to do in her final two days of Tata’s Fortnight and precious little time. _Oddities can wait for later._

Sweeping her wand in a broad vanishing spell, she cleared the waste tray, scrubbed the counters and the cutting boards, and vanished the liquid puddle the coin rested within. It definitely wasn’t as efficient as doing it all by hand, but it certainly sped up the process. Reaching behind her for fresh supplies, she reset her counters. The items she wouldn’t need yet were set aside, standard ritual chalk and her preferred ritual candles. The large bag of chalk powder got a front and center seat along with an oversized mixing bowl.

Rolling up her sleeves, she followed the instructions on the chalk powder for creating ritual chalk up until the last steps. Shifting again to her bowl of fine golden powder, confident hands measured out the amount that Zerrin Selwyn listed as necessary. After adding it to the white sludge in the bowl, Harriet rolled her sleeves up as high as they would go and dove in.

When she had finished the process, several more records had turned on the player. Harriet rested her sore and freshly scrubbed arms, leaning against the counter behind her; it took a moment to process the lines of chalk sludge currently drying in molds on the countertops. She wouldn’t dry them further, out of concern and risk of shattering them. 

Pushing herself from the desk, she tucked her golden knut into her pocket and flicked her fingers to silence the record player. She had a blonde eagle to hunt down and beg a healing spell from. If her arms didn’t feel as though she had been roughly manhandled for hours, she could have even helped herself.

]|[

The chalk screeched loudly in just that wrong octave as Harriet drew the last line of the tightly woven ritual circle. Her neck flinched to the side instinctively to shake the flaring noise from her eardrum and she set her custom made chalk aside. Actually writing the rituals came as a new experience and she had accidentally caused that sound far too many times in the early morning. 

She leaned back out of her crouch and her fingers moved to her hair. Gathering it at the nape, she twisted and wrapped it about itself before securing it by weaving her wand through the messy bun. Emerald eyes scanned the circle before her as her hands acted on their experience, having performed this same action many times. The familiar tightness of the hair pulling into place allowed her hands to drop until they rested on either side of her knees. Thoughts turned to the shiny golden knut tucked away in a crease in the couch resting just outside the door of the ritual room. She could only hope her magical signature had been imprinted strong enough to have lasted through the night. Then, with a deep breath, she spoke.

“ _Denmotus...temporis…”_ Harriet’s hands landed flat on the circle as she felt a humming vibration throughout her body. The thick candles in the four corners of the room spiked and flared. The fingertips directly in her line of sight went transparent, then she no longer felt the cold smooth press of stone nor the mineral deposit of residual chalk.

She dropped suddenly, though the distance couldn’t have been more than the height of a pillow or two, the jarring change in velocity caused her elbows to buckle in surprise. The couch cushion greeted her face and Harriet felt some relief that it did not actually smell as dusty as she feared it would. _Perhaps it would be a good napping place for later…_

“Rowena, you beast!” The shout of alarm sent Harriet into cackles and she turned her head to see her very frazzled sister having jumped off the couch at her sudden arrival, before the humming sensation coarse through her limbs again and she felt herself pulled back to the present.

Cold burned on her back through her robes as she gripped her sides and rolled on the floor of the ritual room. The laughter would not stop and even the feeling of having some energy siphoned from her could not shake her enjoyment. Luna had barged in exactly an hour ago flustered and wanting information on Harriet’s antics, and it had been great to know _prior_ to her first trial that success could be reached. Still, jumping back an hour in time just to scare the shit out of Luna was _fucking priceless_.

The next several trials all tested her ability to hold herself in the past. Each time she activated the ritual circle it transitioned her body back exactly one hour prior and precisely to where her magical signature resonated from the potion changed coin. After realizing that her success from her first trial interrupted her magic, pulling it from powering the casting, she set to her next efforts with braced shoulders.

_Still,_ she thought as she landed back onto the floor of the ritual room for the third time that morning, _Getting out of the library is rough._

A short nap later found Harriet successfully diving onto the floor just outside of the library, feeling the pull of returning while meeting the eyes of a painted man, she huffed. "Fifth time's the charm."

Around one in the afternoon, a cry of victory echoed just outside of the library, when she stumbled out face to face with the ancestor who only existed as a painting. Phineas Black eyed her peculiarly, taking in the chalk dust covering her mourning robes and the wand still holding up her hair. 

“An interesting state for the Heiress to present herself in.” He drawled languidly. Harriet glanced down at herself, only just realizing how much dust had caked to herself each time she reappeared on the ritual circle. Cupping some in her palm she arched a brow at the former wizard.

“I can always share, if you are feeling left out.”

His deep affront caused her to laugh, and she dropped her hand, padding the dust back into the folds of her robes. His voice thundered, “Have you not been taught to greet others properly?!”

“Er-Yeah…” The familiar pull started up in her muscles and she only had time for a shout, “Back in an hour!”

To Phineas’s sputtering distaste, she faded away right before his eyes. Reappearing a floor below and an hour forward, the witch sent a scrubbing _scourgify_ over her skin, robes, and hands. The spell left a distinctly plain soap smell on her skin, but Harriet overlooked it and her raw forearms. Her feet stepped out into the empty basement level, headed once more for the library entrance, as her mind preoccupied itself with another Black man sputtering in distaste.

~~~

“It’s freezing outside, can we not do this in the den?” Tata gazed at her sharply, “Have you been polyjuced? You _hate_ the cold.” 

Harriet’s green eyes rolled as she waved off his concern halfheartedly. She had already bundled each of them into their coats and boots so she knew the real protesting had already ended. “Staying inside for too long is bad for you, the back garden is in the wards. Let’s just do today’s lesson out there.”

She steered him by the overly padded elbow towards the back door and swished her wand just as they exited, lighting the torches she had set up before nightfall. The small garden bathed in fire, not enough to ease the chill or the mounds of snow, but light gleamed off the ice crystals, reflecting in a dazzling array. The bare tree with its snow covered branches gleamed as if licked by flames and the sight stole both their breaths. She turned, a bright smile on her face and arms spun wide to present the whole image.

Sirius’s arms encircled her, pulling her into the furs covering his chest. His voice sounded tight, and he pushed his face into her loose mane of hair. “It’s the next best thing I’ve seen in these years after finding you, pup. Thank you.”

She nuzzled into his chest and they held each other, both unaccustomed to the feeling of such emotions and neither relinquishing their stubbornness. When the chill of standing stationary in the snow became too much they broke apart, matching barking laughter echoing off the tall buildings. 

“I have more!” Harriet exclaimed. She drew her wand once more, summoning a tray set from the kitchen, ladened with a massive steaming kettle and a black bottle bobbing after. They set themselves on the small garden table and she gestured proudly for her father’s inspection.

“Hot chocolate?” He looked at her curiously.

“With muggle Irish Cream! Which, let me tell you, is an absolute riot to procure with the Umbitch currently running the school.”

He burst into a grin and clapped her on the back soundly. “The most cunning Marauder that ever lived! Our formal introductions lesson can wait after a cuppa’ or two.”

Harriet shoved him back, overly pleased at the support Tata never failed to show her. Irresponsible though he could be at times, he had become a major positive force in her life, and she wouldn’t trade him for anything. She laughed with him, “No hoarding the chocolate, Old Man!”

]|[

Kreacher spurred himself into a furniture rampage in the afternoon, racing by with several large storage shelves while Harriet rested against the wall talking with Phineas. Her eyes sparked at a new idea, and so two hours later, after concluding what had turned out to be a fun, barb filled conversation with her ancestor, she headed back down to the basement.

First, she pulled the golden gleaming knut from where it had sunk deep within the cushions. Inspecting the anchor carefully, it pleased her to see a lack of deterioration from the repeated use. _Excellent, the potion was a perfect success, then._

Slipping back up the stairs, she snuck the coin beneath a rug in the entryway of the Black Library and winked at Phineas. She turned and retreated once more. All day she had built her stamina with the ritual, slowly giving more magic to its upkeep to hold her in the past longer. Now, she prepared to truly push herself. Her hands clapped down on the circle and she chanted. “ _Denmotus temporis!”_

Her knees landed hard, and she heard herself speaking just around the corner. Rising quickly, she darted past and began her plan. Reaching upward, she whipped her wand from her hair and elevated the first piece of familiar furniture she remembered watching fly by. She and it ran once more by her previous body and the painting. Over and over, Harriet floated furniture back to where Kreacher had moved it from just over an hour before, releasing the magic holding her in the past just as he came around the corner cursing and investigating.

At no point did her previous smirking timeline say anything to the poor houself as he ran from room to room baffled at the furniture that seemed to blink back to its original position. Luna giggled in the parlor, using the rim of her teacup to hide her smile from Kreacher. She set a record to play upbeat music spurring from the large horn, filling the halls. To the jazzy tune, the heiress ran, dodging her dear elf with chests and settees hovering above her head. Each new repetition of the ritual devolved the whole house further into an odd game of musical furniture. Late into the night, Harriet finally collapsed in exhaustion on the chalk circle and her wide grin slipped lax as she drifted into a happy dreamless sleep.

]|[

The days after their trip to Diagon Alley and the formal completion of the fortnight passed quickly for Luna and Harriet. Because of their ambush, the remainder of their outings were in muggle London, and this had once brought Walburga's painting to screams when she had seen the muggle shopping bags.

Harriet decided that the tension could not remain. As this would be her home, Walburga would have to adapt or move from the hall. "Luna," she began, getting the blonde's attention. "I have this idea."

They began easy on poor Walburga. They dressed in robes and conjured a small tea table right there in the hall. Once seated, Harriet vanished the curtains blocking Walburga from view. 

As the litany of vile cursing began Luna and Harriet pretended to be deaf. "Dreadful mudbloods and blood traitors who DARE COME IN to my house… the MOST ANCIENT house - and dare to THROW ASIDE OUR TRADITIONS!" After several minutes, Walburga began to breathe heavily. Her eyes wide in anticipation of repetitions of house guests attempting to stopper her screams.

Gently, and knowing she intended to intervene with a soul more feral than most, Harriet spoke. "Good afternoon, I believe I'm your great goddaughter. I am Harriet Potter-Black and this my dear friend." She gestured to Luna, but she never took her gaze off of the painting.

"It is an honor my lady," Luna bowed her head solemnly. Her dreamy expression gave away to clarity, as she continued, "I am called Luna Lovegood at this time, and your matriarchal work in your family was inspirational."

Harriet - who had been nodding along with Luna's words - cut her eyes to the other girl in alarm. She had to shake her head, she did not have the time to ask for more information.

Walburga on the other hand had loved Luna's statement, to praise her had been to praise her family, and Walburga leaned heavily within the Black madness to the family aspect.

"Great goddaughter…?" Her strong voice wavered on the words. "How...can that be?"

Luna moved to stand behind Harriet, her arms draped over her shoulders and around her neck in comfort. Harriet looked directly up at Walburga. "My tata is...your eldest, Sirius." She squeezed her eyes closed not wanting to hear the yelling. 

Silence.

Luna hummed behind her and nudged her to continue. When Harriet's eyes opened she did not expect to see Walburga at the edge of her frame. She looked empty. Her proud shoulders had sagged at the mention of Sirius, and Harriet did not know if her heart shattered from a mother's grief of separation from her child or if she knew of Tata's death.

Harriet blundered on, "My birth parents were James and Lily Potter, and they made Sirius my godfather. And er- well, you never formally disowned Sirius, so when he blood adopted me, I became a Black." Luna held her harder at this point in her story. "I didn't know any of this until three years ago, for a lot of reasons, but Tata was the father I never had. He taught me about the Potters, but he knew more about the Black traditions, so I learned a lot more about them in the end. He named me his Heiress. And after he died-" she took a steadying breath, "I moved here to mourn him properly."

She looked up from her hands to see the painted lady weeping into her sleeve, Luna sung “She needs a moment to clear the wrackspurts,” into Harriet’s ear. True enough after a couple minutes to compose herself, Walburga stood at the frame’s edge and addressed the girls. 

“Welcome to my home. I should have been able to offer that earlier.” A shadow of the grief passed over her face again, “It was always my dream to see this house with young witches growing in its halls. I loved my boys, but I don’t believe we ever understood one another. That despite everything, Sirius passed his heritage on to you does some to temper the grief of knowing my last son is gone. May his magic grow within you.”

Following these words, the Black matriarch turned and layed on the lounge chair in the portrait, asking for as much space that any portrait could really request. She watched the pair of witches, opposite in coloring, but both a perfect match for a number of women on her family tree. They murmured to each other, giving eachother room, and Walburga watched her great goddaughter absentmindedly banish the table set they had been using. Wandlessly, while holding a conversation, leaving no scorch marks or residual damage. 

Even amidst her grief the painting's smile signifyd a great future for the Blacks.

]|[

The remaining weeks in August passed quickly for the residents of the Black home. 

Kreacher spent the majority of his days tending to the house, cleaning rooms that were needed and preparing the morning and evening meals. Lunches continued to be wasted on his young charges, who often went without or stole snacks from the kitchens at inappropriate eating intervals. He longed for the times when the summers meant three meals of a long crowded table filled with his family, but he believed Mistress Harriet would rebuild.

In his free time, he would set aside moments to sit with his former mistress. Now that she worked to improve from the terrorized mindscape she had so long been stuck in, Kreacher felt the honor to sit across from her once more. Miss Luna and Mistress Harriet had even encouraged these talks. One night, when Kreacher and Beloved Mistress had been talking for hours, he had said goodnight only to look to the side and see a firm cushion pillow in a beautiful black fabric with a note reading "for the stairs".

His gratitude warmed him. He would have sat without complaint, but his new cushion did make a great deal of difference. His Mistress Harriet had truly chosen much better friends this time around. 

In that way, Miss Luna too gained Kreacher's loyalty.

Luna focused her time on Harriet and continuing the study of the dark arts. She delved into several subjects, but the dark magic sides of Divination and Ancient Runes called to her in particular. This library held a wealth of information that she had been banned from all her life, and with a naturally balanced core, to know so much of one side and so little of the other felt wrong. 

She had found a particular piece of spell work she desperately wanted to try, but the text lacked practical application. The theory described pouring magic into the surroundings, mentally deciding a clear perimeter that could be maintained, then communing with the existing magic within to divine the future of an area. Seconds were theorized to require a great deal of magic, but Luna had found it to be a project she would see through.

With Harriet studying by her side the majority of the time, she could consistently check on her without being obtrusive. Wrackspurts and Nargles had a hard time affecting Harriet, so she found it more effective to glance at her through her inner eye. For as long as Luna had known her, Harriet had struggled with her hero complex. Most significantly, this struggle left her neglecting her own well being, especially when someone else could use any saving.

So she monitored. When Harriet needed but lacked the awareness, Luna feigned the need. It did not do good to push every time, so many things were allowed to slide. Kreacher covered meals, and she kept her eye on Harriet's magic levels and exhaustion.

Harriet spent her last two weeks comparing her compiled study of time, and continuing to practice her runic drawings. Some of the independent time runes still gave her trouble, and she wanted them to be very clear before she left for Hogwarts. Harriet had decided that Tata's words about protecting _Courting the Beasts of Time_ triumphed her need to take it with her. She wasn't completely confident in her ability to protect it, and that had been one of Tata's only requests. Her notes were thorough, so they would have to do.

Luna's calming company created a welcome change from previous summers. Harriet found herself much more efficient when she set her mind to a task. Granted, that left both girls with other free time. 

They made a goal to speak with Walburga as they passed, or to sit and talk with her. One night, she slyly spoke with Luna about how far behind witches' fashion had seemed on their trip as they sketched out ‘improvement ideas'. Clasps instead of ribbons, shapewear instead of cages. When Walburga idly mentioned how much more comfortable those seemed, Harriet revealed the muggle origins of the fashion merge. Harriet even managed to have Walburga admit that muggle lingerie "had promise" while they showed off their other purchases to her afterward. Kreacher had been scandalized until the next morning, and Harriet could not help but think that maybe he had drawn a parallel to the very similar items he had so proudly told her were Bellatrix's when she first arrived.

In the evenings, Walburga would often search out the two witches. She usually found them in the head of the house suite, or in the library, having pushed the couches close to the fire. Often she would choose to simply watch over them, and see them talk and laugh. What remained of her magic had become a part of the house, and she had felt a bond with these girls grow as they had also cared for the home and its traditions. Sometimes she would join in on their conversation, and that kindled a warm glow in her chest.

Walburga and Kreacher had spent many years alone in the Black home before the Order had trampled in. Until their Heiress, Grimmauld had faced the possibility of being torn apart brick by brick and having the secrets within trashed. The house’s magic protected those granted access unless that access were to be revoked, so she had watched every day and screamed under silencing spells and curtains as more villains ripped her home apart. Harriet however had revitalized not only the magic within the home but also herself and her faithful companion. More even, she brought back the feeling of family that Walburga sealed herself into a painting to protect, and for that she ached to hold her lost son's daughter in her arms.


	7. Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had a question posed, and since the name is dear to my heart, I figured I would address it here.
> 
> Zerrin, is pronounced ZIHR-IHN.
> 
> On we go-

Despite being prepared for it, the first of September came fast. The previous year’s flurry of activity had been replaced with just a hint of nerves. Harriet hesitated at the thought of what they would face returning to school. She and Luna had packed the evening before, and Kreacher prepared a modest breakfast of eggs, fruits, and toast. As delicious as the food smelled, Harriet found herself with a lack of appetite. There were too many unknowns in her day. She pushed away from the table to double check the packed trunks in the hall and missed Kreacher's bat ears droop. 

Hedwig, having little to do lately, had flown a day early. Her cage had been shrunk and put in Harriet's trunk, which left the girls with only one piece of luggage each. The raven haired girl padded the latches with her hands, feeling the magic keeping them closed. Then she turned and slumped against the stack. A moment passed and she heard the quiet padding of small feet. As she raised her head, Kreacher stood in front of her, his large ears drooped further and a bowl of fruit in his hands, outstretched. 

"Thank you," she murmured, taking the fruit. "I just needed a moment." A small smile curved her lips as the taste of peaches spread across her tongue. Kreacher perked up in front of her immediately. 

"Whatever you are needing, Mistress."

Harriet couldn't stifle a giggle at how quickly his demeanor changed, and the sound of her laughs drew Luna from the kitchen. "I can see your head has cleared, good. But if we don't leave soon, we will have to find alternative travel to school."

"Yes, yes, the train is important. Kreacher if you would-"

But Kreacher anticipated her request. He held both witches' shrunken trunks up for them to take, one in each hand.

Walburga spoke then with the magic of the house swimming in her words, "May magic guide you safely and mischievously, my daughters. You must come home to me."

Beside Harriet, Luna's voice resounded as she responded. "You will meet us soon, Walburga." The echo of her words resounded abnormally up the stairs and through the home. As one Luna and Harriet lifted their hands to grasp Kreacher's outstretched fingers. With a sharp crack that broke the echo, the hall sat bare once more.

]|[

Harriet felt Luna's magic dip right as they reappeared at the apparition point on the train station platform. She moved to steady her friend as the pull passed, then Luna's eyelids raised and she stood on her own. The two exchanged a knowing talk-about-it-later look and Harriet addressed Kreacher. 

"Thank you for bringing us, it's much preferred than the alternatives. Please keep Walburga and the home company while I am gone. And remember the rules, no Order wizards in."

He gave her an eager smile and with a nod he disapparated. With the noise and bustle surrounding them the crack of his disappearance blended in, inaudible. 

Luna grabbed her hand and began to weave her way to the train. They skillfully dodged Hermione and her parents, gave a wide berth to Ron's family, and tactfully slid by a curious display of emotions from Malfoy that looked suspiciously like him crying on his mother's shoulder.

Harriet’s eyes were pulled from this view as a laughing Luna used their interlocked hands to literally twirl Harriet up the steps of the train and into the hallway. She had to join in the laughter at her sister's ridiculous antics, but she did not falter in the dance. Harriet used a spin to grab Luna's other hand and together they danced down the train. Students gawked from their compartments, or dodged out of the way, but neither girl faltered in their graceful step until they reached an empty compartment and collapsed on the bench. Forgoing their clasp hands in favor of holding their bursting stomachs, the girls valiantly tried to curb their laughter. Yet with each student that passed, throwing them looks like they were crazy, the laughter bubbled up harder. Harriet sent a wave of magic at the door, slamming it shut. Slowly, the manic giggles faded from the girls, although the lingering high remained.

Some time later Harriet came to with her head pillowed in Luna's lap, her fingers running through her waves. She had not slept, but she enjoyed letting the beat of the train and the rush of so much magic swirl around her. The door rattled as someone attempted to barge in, and Harriet relaxed her magic's hold on it.

Malfoy stood in the doorway, he stretched tall, especially from Harriet’s reclined position. He had broadened over the summer, and thankfully had continued with his shorter haircut that did make him look decidedly less prat-ish. He stood panting and glaring hatefully at the unlatched door as it gently slid open, seemingly of its own accord. The prefect badge glinted on his chest as he raised his arm to finish slamming the door into the pocket. 

"How can you lock these?" Malfoy snarled, upset at not being able to manhandle the door.

"How is that a priority, Malfoy? Don't you have better things to do?" Harriet moved to stand from her defenseless position, but Luna's fingers in her hair clenched before she could lift her head, a sharp sting communicating silently. Harriet understood. Keep her cool or lose her hair. A bold ultimatum. 

Malfoy huffed and smacked his back against the doorframe. "Professor Slughorn would like to invite you for tea." He pinched the bridge of his nose and then sighed, dropping his hand forward in a shrug. "It's some kind of club, I think."

Harriet craned her neck back to see Luna, who seemed very unbothered by all this. She raised her hand to halt the blonde’s fingers in her hair, "It sounds like a bother, do you want to go?"

Luna, from her corner of the compartment, had a perfect view of the moment Harriet's unbuttoned school robes slipped from the bench with the movement of her arm. The black fabric dropped, exposing how her skirt had ridden high amidst all the laughing, and an explosive burst of red colored blush stained Draco Malfoy's face. Behind him a Hufflepuff seventh year glanced into the compartment as he passed. Seeing Harriet stretched out on the bench, back arched ever so slightly with her ebony hair splayed out and her skirt riding indecently high on her long legs, tempted too much for the poor man. He faltered to a standstill in the hall, only to meet Luna’s gaze and jolt, tripping and mowing over some poor first year in his haste.

Malfoy cleared his throat and forcibly repositioned his body to look away as Luna held a sly laugh just under her breath. "Harriet, this will be such lovely fun."

]|[

Harriet disagreed strongly. They had followed a surprisingly untalkative Malfoy back towards the head of the train, to a compartment that looked to be double or triple the size of a normal compartment. The door spilled open and the seats were packed. Benches covered the outside edge and small thin tables pinned those occupants in. The only available seats were next to a portly man in all green teaching robes or a pair directly left of the doorway. Malfoy immediately headed to the seats next to the door, and not wanting to be anywhere closer to strangers than she had to be, Harriet pulled Luna toward her by the arm and followed Malfoy’s step. 

Malfoy quickly took a seat, speaking to the boy on his left. Standing in the gap between the bench and table, Harriet muttered, “Budge over, Malfoy, there’s not enough room.”

Beside her, Luna took matters into her own hands, dropping down into the only seat and moving her arm around Harriet’s stomach. Through a stroke of prophetic genius, Malfoy turned his body right as she yanked. Harriet’s knees buckled and she dropped sitting on both Luna’s leg and Malfoy’s. Her hand flailed looking to catch her, and she ended up grabbing his remaining thigh.

“Potter-the fuck!”

“Luna!”

“There’s not enough room, we will just have to all make nice,” replied Luna’s calm voice to the hissed shouts. They were distracted from any further shifting when the large man called the meeting to order.

“Excellent, excellent. Our final guests have arrived.” Harriet pushed away her frustration at being told to play nice with Malfoy, and focused on the man that seemed to bob up and down as he spoke. He reminded her of men her uncle would invite for dinner. Wealthy men who laughed at others cast aside as they only thought about money. His overweight fingers and features as he gestured about the cabin did not dissuade her from this conflation. “I am Professor Horace Slughorn, and I have called you all here because you all have a quality I have deemed special. Now this is really a preliminary thing-”

Harriet’s attention abruptly distracted from the speech as Malfoy began to wiggle and huffed loudly in her ear. Didn’t he know this was unpleasant for her as well?

Slughorn continued to drone. “I anticipate starting up my dinner parties soon, McKinley, not to worry, my boy. For now, if you would all please enjoy the tea and refreshments, I will make my way around to each of you in due time.”

An assorted tea ensemble appeared on the table, complete with finger sandwiches and mini tartlets. Luna moved forward to prepare them both a cup of tea, and Harriet again got distracted from the delicious sweets in front of her by more damn shifting. Leaning back, Harriet tucked her hand around Malfoy’s neck, her fingers curling into his short hair to allow her lips close access to his ear. Malfoy’s whole body went completely still. Her voice whispered low and smooth but held no edge of amusement, “Draco, if you do not begin to control your shifting until I remove myself from this position, I will personally show you just how uncomfortable you could become.” Harriet uncurled her fingers and patted his shoulder, his stricken face met her laughing as she moved back like he had just been the most charming boy in the room. She adjusted her position on their legs and turned back to the goodies in front of her. Luna always knew how tea flavors could be prepared best to go with tarts.

Draco understood the threat he had just received, but he convinced himself that she hadn’t meant to deliver on it. She probably didn’t bloody understand half of what effect her actions had, either. The moment on the bench from earlier, their current position, and now her intimate threat had left him in this hellish paradox. Desperately needing to readjust, and too terrified to do so.

Blaise Zabini leaned into him from his left, bumping him enough that he was forced to relax, lest he jostle the solid presence on his leg. “Did Harriet Potter just...flirt with you?”

“Ah no, I can with certainty that is not what that was.” His body firmly disagreed.

The Slug Club tea dragged on.

Harriet and Luna enjoyed the people watching, though Luna often seemed amused by Malfoy. So long as he stayed still, Harriet left him be. Slughorn had brought in very few lower classmen, and the few who were present only seemed to be asked about their family name or business. The reasons for the upperclassmen invitations were far more interesting. A seventh year Hufflepuff who seemed particularly interested in avoiding Harriet’s eye, had supposedly been scouted for the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny’s presence arose from hexing a student on the train. Hermione’s top marks in her year in most subjects gained her favorable attention. Harriet felt somewhat smug about that, achieving first rank in DADA had honor, but after Hermione’s attitude over the summer, taking it from her nearly rivaled the scholarly accomplishment. McKinley turned out to be a pompous boy in Ravenclaw’s sixth year that Harriet had never actually met, Slughorn seemed to lose interest in him after discovering he had only a distant relation to a former prized student, and did not directly know the man.

It turned out that Blaise Zabini received an invitation because of his mother. Slughorn vibrated when he hinted that her long history of widowing may be due to a creature inheritance. Zabini laughed it off as a series of tragic coincidences and fluidly got Slughorn monologuing about himself again.

Malfoy posed another matter, he ranked second in his year, came from an old family, and could be very knowledgeable about politics. Yet, both Slughorn and he skated quickly over the thin ice that was his father’s imprisonment. The subject remained common knowledge, but Malfoy himself had greased many pockets so that it never hit the front page news.

Then the pudgy professor’s gaze landed on Harriet, “And the dancing sisters! I just knew when I saw you two waltz by, that I had to speak with you. Where did you learn such grace?”

“The Yule Ball?” Harriet answered, confused. They hadn’t been formally dancing earlier, not that Harriet couldn’t; it felt quite fun. Just that she had never properly learned more than what she enjoyed in the moment. Luna had grown up dancing, but the only formal instruction Harriet had received had been McGonagall’s lessons. Luna had invited her to the Yule Ball, and she had thought it a brilliant idea. Despite how many boys it had angered. “Luna is the true dancer, she just always helps me follow her excellent lead.” She nudged her friend. 

“My girl, you could have a very promising career on the stage, you said your name was Luna?”

“Lovegood, and thank you, Sir.” Luna quickly made her response bland, but polite.

“And Harriet, the Girl-Who-Lived!” Harriet flinched. _Fuck_. “I see great things in store for you my dear, you could lead many things later, and this group can help you with that.”

“Sir, I think I need to focus on passing my NEWTs first." She heard a murmur behind her, but couldn't turn to address Malfoy with the whole room staring at her. 

"Yes, one step at a time to greatness. Always the best method." Harriet shook her head, with the Girl-Who-Lived label hanging over her head, he wouldn't hear a word she said on the subject. "Would you look at that sunset! We are about to arrive. Remember, invitations to my parties will go out soon, I hope to see you all there!"

The two witches bolted up immediately at the dismissal and with the Slytherins hot on their heels, nearly dove out of the compartment. The temperature dropped significantly as they were released from the mosh pit, and they walked quickly to avoid the oncoming traffic.

Zabini, ever the gentleman, paused at the door to the sixth year Slytherin compartment. "Would you care to join us?"

Luna responded first, "No, thank you. I find there's a great deal of confusion in there. The train will stop in a minute anyhow."

"We will see you in school." Harriet called over their shoulders as they walked away. She wondered for a moment at the blotchy face of the blond boy and the whispers Zabini smirked his way. Lowering her voice, she turned to her blond, who seemed abnormally pleased. “What was all that about? It was silly. Malfoy had a beetle biting his arse about something the entire time.” Even in her confusion her fondness of Luna’s antics leaked through.

“Your blindness makes it even more fun, sister.” 

They barely heard the door click shut behind them before the train ground to a halt and the shrill long whistle called for departure.

]|[

Without the obligation to stop and chat with anyone, the procession to the feast ran smoothly. Students milled about the open doors of the great hall as Harriet pulled Luna to the side wall. She tried to hide the darting of her eyes as she spoke.

"Are you sure splitting up isn't a terrible idea?"

Luna smiled adoringly, as they had covered this a thousand times. "Even I can't see everything, Harriet, and we don't have much of a choice."

Harriet dropped the back of her head against the wall, flinching when the impact struck harder than she anticipated. She sighed, and forced herself out of her bad posture. “Fine. But if anything goes-”

Anticipating her concern, Luna finished. “Anything happens, come get you immediately, whatever the time.” She linked their arms together and pulled the dark haired girl to join the flow of students that had slowed to a trickle. “Stop worrying, we won’t be apart for long.” She used another gentle shove to deposit Harriet in front of the Gryffindor table.

Harriet had the thought to mutinously follow Luna to the Ravenclaw table before she forced her feet to move. She easily spotted Ron and Hermione by both color and volume. _That pigment of red really does not blend_ , she thought, nor were Hermione’s lectures remotely considerable to be background noise. Thankfully Neville had chosen a seat on the outskirts of the sixth year section, and she quickly took the bench next to him. 

“Harriet?” He started as she sat down. “I almost didn’t recognize you!” Confusion crossed her face and Neville quickly backtracked on his words. “I mean, not that that’s a bad thing! You look stronger! And y’know, prettier. Not that you weren’t… uhm….” He turned back to the table still stumbling over his words and raised his hand to press on his face.

Harriet had to laugh gently over his frustration. She put her fingertips lightly on his arm to stop him from burying his face further. “I’m very glad to see you too, Neville.”

Neville’s relief at not having to word vomit again splashed on his uncovered face when Dumbledore cleared his throat and chose that moment to stand, gaining the attention of the student body. “Welcome one and all, back to Hogwart’s hall. We are especially grateful for your safe return during these trying times, and without further ado, let the sorting commence!”

Harriet grit her teeth minutes later when all young first years had been bustled to the front of the hall, between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, and the hat began to sing. Usually it’s song easily became background noise. The only one most people gave a damn about listening to happened in their own first year.

Dumbledore must have given the hat some pointers this year, because several of his lyrics rang loudly of the same manipulative lines he had spouted at her door that summer. When the hat sang of the “Greater good of students lead from the darkness and to the light” the golden goblet in front of Harriet dented with a low thud. _The old coot’s suggestive programming is everywhere!_ She reeled her magic in, hoping to avoid damaging anything else as the singing blessedly ended.

Apart from there being a significant difference in the number of Slytherin first years compared to the other houses, the sorting remained uneventful. No names brought the room to rapid gossip, and the sorting hat did not rest long on any particular head. 

The Headmaster stood, continuing the message where the hat left off and Harriet’s brain automatically tuned him out. She did not think anything he had to say in front of an audience would contain much truth.

Harriet’s gaze drew instead to the five small children who had been sorted into the snake house. With less than half of the usual size, their years at school would likely have many differences. They seemed pleased, or relieved at the least to be where they were. 

She couldn’t help but wonder if any students had asked to not be put in Slytherin this year, or if they had had long enough to be turned against it by the people they loved that they didn’t even think of being a serpent as an option. _Yes, there is a dark lord, and yes, he is back, but he and Slytherin are not synonymous._ These students had just lost an opportunity, and she even wanted that chance back.

Clapping thundered in her ears and the rich smell of buttered potatoes, roasted meat, and juices of all kinds swirled around the table. Benches heaved and as one the students of the lion house reached arms lengths to pile food onto their plate. Having been able to maintain a healthy diet for a full year for the first time in her life, Harriet contented herself to enjoy an average portion of the dishes around. 

Kreacher had come a long way with his cooking, but the Hogwarts elves were masters. Each bite of potatoes melted in her mouth and the meat had been slow roasted to perfection. Harriet refused to let even the reason for the dent in her goblet ruin this moment.

]|[

Wednesday morning’s alarm came much too early. Harriet’s hand fumbled for the headboard, successfully smacking it with a sharp slap that left a stinging residue in her fingertips. The kaleidoscope of swirling greens shut off leaving the inside of her four poster bed mostly dark once more.

A muffled groan sounded from deep under the covers, but Harriet knew she only could blame herself for this morning. Groggy hands pushed her chest up from the mattress and the nest atop her head shifted off balance. Half lidded eyes barely made out the time in cheery green at the head of the bed. Harriet took a deep breath, and peaked out of her curtains.

_Thank Salazar._ No one was awake.

She quickly grabbed her toiletries bag and darted out of the dorm to the lavatories. Her glaring face stood in stark contrast to the terror her hair had become through her tossing and turning.

Forty minutes later a completely incomparable girl arrived in the great hall. Her long hair sleekly tamed and falling around her face in loose black waves. Her Immaculate uniform left no trace of the ruffled girl who woke up in her bed every morning. 

The large room rested barren when she arrived, the dishes standing in stacks along the center of each long table. Harriet walked to the furthest seat of the lion's table and pulled out her notebook. This action worked as a safe bet to continue avoiding her year mates. First years usually got stuck with these seats as no sane upperclassman wanted to eat beneath McGonagall and Snape's gaze. 

With about fifteen minutes until even the most ambitious student arrived, Harriet got to work. One of the rituals dealing with turning back time had been particularly complex. No shortcut had been spared in the original explanation and yet she still had more questions than confidence. 

This particular ritual intertwined ancient runes with time dust. That enough would be a challenge worthy of at least a significant class grade, but one of the main steps called for blood. Blood magic, as far as she could tell from only knowing the basics, had always been looked on with trepidation even among those who actively practiced the dark arts. With how much power ran in the blood of magicals naturally, it became exponentially harder to control the levels intentionally.

Harriet had to wonder if her high level of fear in the graveyard and Nagini's presence as Wormtail stole her blood may have had any impact on why Voldemort ended up clothed in snake skin. She snorted loudly in the silence of the great room. The theory had merit.

The large doors swung open, giving way for Severus Snape in all of his gliding dungeon bat glory. Harriet closed her notebook with one hand, sliding it beneath the lip of her bag and blocking the motion by leaning forward towards the table. The plates and cutlery on each long table responded to the professor's entrance and began quietly placing themselves in orderly positions.

Snape continued down the center of the hall. He walked with a single minded determination that only increased his pace until he had already passed the lone witch. Until, he stopped dead and turned. His face remained blank except for eyes that spoke of exhaustion and promised unspeakable detentions were she to press too far this early.

"Potter." His voice rang hollow.

"Yes, Sir?"

"What _exactly_ are you doing?"

"Studying," that wasn't a lie, she even wished she could get pixie points for studying so early.

" _Why?"_ Exasperation dripped from the word. She knew he had meant to ask more. ‘ _Why here?’_ _Or, ‘why so damn early?’ probably,_ her thoughts whispered. But she chose to answer his question anyway.

"This is school, Sir." She said, a small smile with every bit of genuine innocence she had on show.

The corner of his eye twitched and his mouth turned down. _Did he stop breathing?_ With an aggravated snarl Snape turned, his robes billowing with brilliant flair, and rounded the head table. His angry voice commanded "Coffee!" Instead of the usual single pot of coffee at his seat, coffee pots and cups appeared at each teacher's setting.

He met Harriet's applause with a swift death glare.

She opened her mouth to speak her protest because, really, such an impressive display of commanding house elves deserved applause. “I didn't even know you could order food!” she mumbled. The remainder of her words jolted and withered in her throat when she heard the voices of students in the hall. Professor Sprout entered, leading awestruck firstie Hufflepuffs who shuffled in a herd and tripped over their robe hems. It made her smile at how cute they were, in that little sibling way.

Slowly Hogwarts woke and joined Harriet for breakfast. Most of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin had arrived in small groups in the first few minutes of breakfast. While some lions appeared early, the majority of Gryffindor came thundering in at once in the last half of the hour. Plates rattled as so many students attempted to take their seats at one table at once. Harriet heard Snape grumbling to her head of house about teaching those in her care more decorum. To her credit, Harriet believed McGonagall to be the epitome of poise. The professor could not be blamed for a dunderhead’s disregard of learning.

The individual student reactions to Harriet as they entered were mixed. Those that chose to vaguely acknowledge her seemed to be buying into the fact that she no longer risked spreading the crazy of last year's seizure episodes. But they hovered at a distance, more unsure than anything else. Many Slytherins that she guessed by resemblance, had family at the ministry fiasco glared with blatant hostility. Which wasn't all that different from her fellow lion year mates’ greetings. 

Luna singularly swung by to say good morning, she greeted her with a kiss to the head and waved, before moving off to Ravenclaw. At this, those around her whispered furiously, and even a few tiny firsties hid their heads in embarrassment. Harriet remained obtuse to it all, in favor of stealing the last couple bites of bacon and fruit on her plate. She'd grown accustomed to Luna’s increasing touches over the summer.

The heads of houses stood and began making their way through delivering the class schedules. Through happy planning, Harriet received her’s first in line, and the first years around her didn't know enough to ask invasive questions.

"Ms. Potter," Mcgonagall peered over the parchment in confusion, "I recall your career goal being listed as undecided, as such, would you not wish to continue with potions? Doing so will widen your options for the future."

She couldn't meet the stern professor's gaze. "I didn't meet the required 'outstanding' grade for the class."

McGonagall huffed and Harriet feared the worst sort of disappointment. "True, you did not meet the requirement when Professor Snape held the Potion Master title. Professor Slughorn however, is more than happy to accept those students who accomplished 'exceeds expectations'. The headmaster spoke at length about the staff change at the welcoming feast, child, you would do well to heed those announcements. Now, I strongly recommend you continue in potions, Ms. Potter."

"Er- yes, professor, I do wish to continue."

"Very good." Her body did not relax it's poised position much, but her voice held a trace of warmth and her native Scottish accent bleeding through showed Harriet her pleasure at her decision. "This will make your schedule quite busy with your other classes, I'd recommend strong time management or narrowing your subjects."

Harriet had already planned to do just that. Trelawney's version of Divination held no value to someone that already lived in their nightmares enough, _thank you very much._ Plus, there remained that little thing about failing the subject. A matter Luna still refused to let her forget, regardless of who had been teaching. Also, despite the fondness she had once felt for Hagrid for bringing her into the magical world, Care of Magical Creatures did not feature prominently in her future plans. Luna and Harriet's conversation over the summer cemented her questioning at all about either elective, so she reluctantly agreed to allow Luna to keep her up to date in Divination. CoMC, however, remained an abandoned cause.

"About that," her volume dropped, "For my electives, I'd like to continue with Ancient Runes but remove Care and Divination. I believe that will be best to focus my interests."

"Too right, let us stick with the true academic matters." With a swish of her wand and a firm nod, she handed over Harriet's revised schedule and moved on to the first years. Harriet quickly folded some fruit into a napkin before grabbing her bag and walking to the other side of the table. On her way out the door, she made a small detour to Luna and the girls around her who were dreamily debating whether periwinkle should be classified as a blue or a purple.

She looped her arms around Luna’s neck, and not wanting to interrupt their conversation whispered, “Come find me tonight.” Her lips quickly touched the top of the blond’s head, and then she walked away.

Once she passed through the doors, she darted around a corner and used her head start to check her schedule.

  
  


**Monday**

Potions 8:30-10am

Defense Against the Dark Arts 10:30-12pm

Herbology 2-3:30pm

**Tuesday**

Ancient Runes 8:30-10am

Charms 10:30-12pm

Transfigurations 2-3pm

Astronomy 10-11pm

**Wednesday**

Potions 8:30-10am

Defense Against the Dark Arts 10:30-12pm

Herbology 2-3:30pm

**Thursday**

Ancient Runes 8:30-10am

Charms 10:30-12pm

Astronomy 2-3:30pm

**Friday**

Double Transfigurations 9-11:30

  
  


Tuesday would be the death of her, week after week, but Friday would be a good day. With any luck she will have gotten most of her assignments done and could relax some weekends.

Stuffing the parchment into her bag, Harriet slowly made her way to the dungeon classroom. She meandered as she went, munching on fruit and looking into doors that seemed curious. Ron had never wanted to explore the dungeons, saying nothing of value could be found so close to the snake pit. One room she entered looked exactly like the ritual room in Grimmauld Place, floors dusty from a summer of disuse, but having signs of circles drawn and scrubbed and candles lining the walls. Wax completely melted into corners giving the feeling of being trapped inside of a sphere. 

Eventually students began to pass her in the hall so she took a mental note of the placement of the room, throwing an absentminded notice-me-not at the door, then turned and joined the throng. For the first time in her Hogwarts career, Harriet waited outside the classroom with students from more than just two houses. She wondered if Snape were disgusted with the students over the fact that there were not enough to require more than one NEWT level class or if he took pride in scaring the incompetent from his subject. Not his anymore, she supposed, but Snape would always be the Potions Master to her.

Frizzy hair stomping directly in front of her face pulled Harriet from her musings. Hermione, followed by an incensed Ron attempted to herd Harriet into backing away. _Not a chance._ Her breath blew out in a short huff, and when she spoke, the word left her lips so quickly that it cracked through the air.

_"What?"_

Hermione's brown eyes flared and her lips pursed in a way she wrongfully assumed conveyed authority. "How could you? How dare you begin one of our most important years of higher learning by shacking up with MALFOY?! I saw you!" Her voice screeched on his name and Harriet had wanted to silence her when she had continued as if they were still friends. Now, as Malfoy himself looked up from his gaggle of Slytherin girls only to flush as he made eye contact with Harriet, her hand itched to curse the girl in front of her just for causing a scene.

She thought word would travel about her sitting on Malfoy’s lap on the train. She just thought Malfoy himself would be the one overreacting.

Ron spoke, his anger having only grown in the proximity. "How could you do this to us? WE are your best friends-"

And time stopped. 

_Tempus seorsum._ Nonverbally, Harriet slowed her own timeline. Putting the practice over the summer to use, the words rang in her mind. In her anger she worked quickly, hovering charms lifted those students behind her two former best friends and safely deposited them to the sides, then she put up a wide U-shaped barrier green between the three Gryffindors and the remaining students. A drop of sweat ran a trail from her forehead and her storming jewel eyes held steady as she allowed her own timeline to snap back into place.

"-iends" Ron still snarled.

And Harriet _pushed_. Her magic, a dark mass pulled and funneled by her anger, acted as a battering ram and slammed. The two yelled as they flew the remaining four feet and hit their backs before crumpling to the floor. They groaned and lifted their heads in time to see the magic that had spread from Harriet gleefully sink back into her skin.

Whispers arose from the students around her to see the golden trio fighting, and at such a solid band of dark magic splitting the hallway. Hannah Abbott ran to knock on the classroom door in concern. Harriet just knew this would be all over the school in hours. That did not matter now, inwardly she snarled. 

_How dare they accuse betrayal._

She leaned against the wall and showed nothing but boredom when she next spoke, "Granger, Weasley," _Those names should drive the point home_. "We are not friends, and I suggest you refrain from using those words to describe me further. My business is of no concern to you. Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up for once in your lives."

Granger fumed, but stayed silent, and went about picking up her dropped school supplies. From her position against the wall, Harriet could see that Weasley, however, had not given in. His eyes fixated and he shrugged off the strap of his spilt book bag. He raised his wand and just as his mouth began to speak, the door to the potions classroom swung open dangerously fast, and a booming voice called out. "Goodness me!! Come in, come in! Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini, oh, no, don't take your seats. Gather 'round this table!"

Harriet turned from the two on the floor and pulled the barrier back into her magic reserves. She blended into the Slytherin group only long enough to receive an appraising look from a once more towering over her Malfoy Junior, and make her way through the doorway.

As the students were allowed to enter, bubbling of all tempos hit their ears. Some low and thick, others high pitched enough to match Pansy Parkinson's giggles. Several cauldrons simmered at the front of the class, but one in particular caught Harriet's eye. The sound did not stick out, but it smelled delicious and intoxicating, and had to be too good to be true. Fresh squeezed orange juice, chocolate, and a thunderstorm raging all around her. The scent of the storm seemed slightly off though, _better,_ the scent did not carry the usual smell of mud or soaked stone that she associated with daily life. Rather, the scent on her tongue tasted unhampered by the dirt and blanketed her in it's comfort. 

She felt herself falling into a daze and her mind rioted against the feeling. She gripped the long tabletop in front of her as longing punched through her and her forehead felt warm. Nothing blocked her view, but long fingers brushed through her hair, gently caressing her scalp. A thumb brushed tenderly over her scar and it seemed to hum in return. Harriet closed her eyes and cut off her breathing, forcing herself to stop partaking of the intoxicating scent even as her knees felt weak and she held herself up only by her arms. All at once, the sensation left, leaving weakness in her muscles and an ache in her chest. 

Holding her breath still, Harriet pushed herself up and forced herself to walk away from the curious potion in the golden cauldron. She approached Professor Slughorn and finally allowed herself a testing breath, the scent was present, but not the drug it had been before. Slughorn brightened immediately upon seeing her and disregarded his conversation with the McKinley boy with a lack of subtlety that even made her wince.

"Professor, I was wondering if I might ask a favor," she began. "Due to a mishap, I don't have access to my potions textbook, and it will take several days for me to receive a new one. I don't mean to be a bother-" _might be trying too hard there,_ "but would you have a spare I could borrow?"

Slughorn seemed to feed off the student in need attitude, not caring, or not noticing that she never actually explained her situation. Harriet had a lot of flaws, but admitting to almost not making the cut into a class to a teacher's pet style teacher would not be one. She would leave academic suicide to others. 

"My dear, who would I be to not assist one of the brightest witches of your generation? Of course! This year we will be using _Advanced Potion-Making,_ I should have a spare copy at the bottom."

Slughorn directed her to a small cabinet next to the potions cupboard, inside were several shelves each containing battered copies of the past year's books. Only two copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ sat on the bottom shelf. One copy appeared to have sustained significant water damage, the binding bursting out of the cover in several areas and Harriet had her concerns that the damage to the bulging pages may have blurred or erased the ink in certain areas. The second looked far older but much more valued. The spine creased in multiple areas, showing how often and for how long the textbook had sat open and thumbed through. Her interest in potions couldn't help but be spiked, and her hand reached toward the second copy. What other kind of textbook could inspire this kind of devotion that she only recently had found with _Courting the Beasts of Time_? 

_What treasures does this book contain?_

Behind her, Slughorn chuckled, “Weatherby, I know you did not originally plan to take this class, but I must ask that you be more prepared next time. Please grab a textbook and join the class.”

Harriet slipped her claimed book into her bag and stood, turning on her heel. She would not leave her back exposed to the likes of him. Weasley sneered at her as she passed, but she disregarded him, his eyes only showed bravado and would until his confidence regenerated. A sudden clap on her shoulder had her wand dropping into her hand from her sleeve. Eyes darting to the side revealed Slughorn and Harriet grit her teeth and sheathed her wand. Having noticed nothing of her readiness to attack, he steered her towards the front of the room, on the opposite side of the fiendish gold cauldron. Harriet had a moment to wonder what the cheerful golden potion behind her could be, before she remembered the book in her bag and McGonagall’s words that morning. She dragged her attention from the dancing liquid and focused on the lecture that had just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am falling asleep as I put the finishing edits on this post.
> 
> Salazar, it's late.
> 
> As always, Comment, Kudos, and please Enjoy!
> 
> From here on, tags will be added as chapters make them applicable.
> 
> Goodnight fellow darklings.


	8. In the Shadows

The moonlight hitting the alcove caught the vial the dark haired witch held aloft. Golden light shone from the liquid as she twirled the small glass container in her fingers. Potions had been eventful. 

Harriet sat leaning back against the rear of the statue's platform and let herself drift through her thoughts as she waited. The Half-Blood Prince. She would have liked a more descriptive moniker, but his book proved remarkably helpful. She’d rarely completed a flawless potion on the first read through, much less so quickly. If only she could pick his brain. Where had he learned about the counterclockwise stir, or the timing? How many potions had blown up in his face before he mastered the technique? She looked down at the book open in her lap, one hand brushing over the spell written in the margin. A silencing spell that no one else knew would be perfect. 

“That's very pretty.” A soft voice from behind whispered.

Harriet rolled her head back and grinned. "Come see. It's my prize." The hand holding the gold filled vial dropped from above her and fell into her lap. Luna's small form slipped behind the statue, and Harriet's breath caught as the light reflected off her long curls. She folded herself opposite the lion with her back to the alcove wall and leaned forward.

Harriet held the vial up for Luna to take and she cupped it in her hands tenderly. "It's...happy," she giggled. 

"Slughorn called it Felix Felicis, apparently it's liquid luck. Knowing my life, I could probably use a lot more of it." She flashed a wry smile and rubbed her hand on the back of her neck.

"Luck won't play as big a factor soon, you know." Luna handed the vial back and Harriet slipped it into her bag.

"You said something similar to Walburga yesterday, and then your energy dipped. And you've been so sure of it…" Her suspicion morphed to excitement. "Was the sight intentional? It's been unexpected the other times, but you never had the same energy drain right…?" She trailed off and ducked her head at her obsessive babbling. The embarrassment she felt curbed slightly by the fond smile on Luna's face.

"Yes, my intent was successful. I believe it showed me more than I intended to ask for," at this she shot Harriet a stern look when she prepared to interrupt. "Seeing so much is likely the reason for the dizzy spell, but it wasn't so bad you know. No, I won't tell you what I saw." Harriet pouted, but Luna remained firm in this decision. The next week would not be easy, but so long as events stayed to this path, her sister would find more to care for. Telling Harriet would do no good, she had a habit of rebelling against things that were Seen.

"Tell me about this book." Light immediately brightening in Harriet's green eyes told Luna this had been the perfect distraction.

"I had to borrow one for potions, there were only a couple options, but this one looked… devoted to. It made me curious. And look at this!" She flipped a couple pages to the margin she traced earlier. "He created spells. All kinds!"

"Do they work?" A glint in Luna's eye sparkled for a moment, her inner-Ravenclaw clamoring to the surface. She waved her wand around the entrance to their hideout, putting up a strong notice-me-not charm.

Lips pulled back to reveal a wolfish grin and shadows danced on her face, making Harriet’s resemblance to Sirius uncanny. Holly and phoenix feather slipped from its sheath on her pale forearm. “Let’s give it a try.”

_“Muffliato.”_

]|[

Severus Snape didn’t know what level of sin he must have committed for Albus to put him on the first shift of curfew rounds on the first day of classes, but he knew better than to wish for an uneventful evening. Already he had deducted numerous house points and sent four young couples in various states of undress running back to their dorms.

Languidly, his neck rolled on his shoulders as he attempted to relax. Going from silence in the summer to hundreds of pounding voices grated, no matter how many years of experience he had doing it. Perhaps after his promise to Lily graduated, he could disappear from this school. That thought heartened him as much as it lacked feasibility.

He slowed his pace as he rounded the corner of the sixth floor corridor, knowing the statue beyond provided a lesser known hiding spot. He pivoted, robes billowing to a halt as low buzzing stopped him in his tracks. It had been years since he experienced this sensation and curiosity overcame his immediate instinct to intimidate. He had never taught anyone the Muffliato Charm.

_Did someone reinvent it?_

_No._

None of these fools that surround him bothered learning the established material, much less dared to dabble in magical creation. Although it loathed him to admit it, the Weasley twins were a hope to magic in that regard. Chills of horror shot through his spine at the thought of them ever hearing him say that.

Severus flicked his wand, weaving the casting of the sound dampening charm to include himself and leaned on the edge of the alcove, just out of sight. He rolled his eyes at his actions, a professor spying like a child. What next?

Low feminine voices interrupted his self depreciation, the first filled with trepidation and exhaustion.

“So, how bad is it?”

“Most of the nargles have graduated, so my things have stayed in my dorm today. That was nice. I am seeing far more short red hair than usual, though.” Only one student in the country spoke like that.

“Is he trying to hurt you?” Her voice came out in a panicked rush, and Severus almost interrupted at the recognition that Harriet Potter had somehow learned his spell. Lovegood’s next words made him want to let the conversation play out a little longer.

“Nothing has happened. Nevermind that, tell me more of this prince.”

“The Half-Blood Prince.”

“Yes, the idea of a prince is dreamy, don’t you think?” Severus’s jaw went slack and his skin crawled at the idea of teenage girls approaching him because they thought him ‘dreamy’. Especially a fifth year girl that seemed to always know more than she said, or the child of his only love. His hand itched to expel the other imaginary students.

“Er-sure, a knight in shining armour and all that shite?” Her irreverence on the matter soothed his pricked ego. “Anyway...the couple spells we’ve tried are brilliant, I just wish we had more context for them. I’m not a fan of trying them blind. As for potions, this prince is ten times the teacher Slughorn is!” Her excited voice rose and would have carried through the empty castle were it not for the muffling charm. “I want to try the recipes I have notes on, but I need to figure out the theory of this counterclockwise stir if I am going to apply it and the other techniques to new potions."

Surprise filtered through him. He never thought this student would be one to honestly give effort towards the craft of potions. To hear such interest from Potter's child also brought inherent suspicion. 

She continued, voice softer now. "Like that alarm charm you created, using colors rather than sounds has really cut back on the night terrors bleeding through into my mornings. But you even admitted it took a while to refine. Talking to someone about spell creation could help with those things."

Lily's childhood voice overwhelmed the current moment. Lily telling him all about how her sister Tunny had screamed at her and called her names. The sister who pushed her into mud puddles because she was different. The crying best friend that had come to _him_ when the headmaster had advised "love will triumph" and not to "overreact over silly matters". He swallowed thickly, yet the lump in his throat refused to move. His hand raised, massaging his throat and forcing himself to listen to the voices, hoping it would pull him from his memories.

"-haven't had much luck linking the theory to the practical yet, but I did have some time to review my arithmetic calculations for the proportional magical output." Many had wondered why Luna had been chosen for Ravenclaw. But at least every teacher had seen her argue a matter in private. The biting clarity that overcame her eyes in those moments had yet to leave a teacher with a clear understanding of why that hat had chosen that path for the odd child. "The remainder will give me some trouble, as we lack a lot of clarity on it."

A strange animalistic sound came from the alcove, followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh and giggling. "It's late." The sound, probably a yawn, came again. "Hopefully they're all asleep now."

He pulled himself away from the wall, and turned the corner, not flushing them out, and not removing a single house point. These witches wanted to learn, perhaps he had been wrong. Maybe two more in this entire castle showed promise. Harriet Potter had been surprisingly non confrontational in his lesson that afternoon, and rather adept at their first lesson in nonverbal spellwork. Now loomed the question of if he wanted to get involved.

]|[

The temptation to have her Ancient Runes professor look over her ritual outline was strong. Yet Harriet had no way of removing the symbols of time or the blood magic that were so deeply tied into it. Professor Babbling had proved herself to be an excellent teacher, even somewhat skeptical of Dumbledore's flights of fancy from the school, but that did not mean she felt open minded to the dark arts. 

But Harriet did want more information. So, she tore off a piece of parchment near the end of her class and carefully drew a single rune. The professor dismissed the class and she waited the two minutes it took the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs - Hermione thankfully still seemed to be cowed and therefore did not badger the professor - to exit the room. 

"Professor, I was wondering if I might ask you a question." The woman jolted, having assumed all her students had filed out as they normally would.

"Yes, Ms. Potter?"

"Well, I came across this rune in a book in my family's library over the summer, and I was wondering if you recognized it?" She slid the torn parchment onto the teacher's podium.

The teacher's eyes widened dramatically. "Not every Runes Mistress would." She mumbled in awe. "How…? This is from the very essence of a discipline. Very powerful. Even the Ministry themselves established a secondary rune." She looked at Harriet again, as though she had forgotten her student stood present.

"But what can you tell me about it?"

"Time magic was truly all theory until some sixty years ago. A witch some claimed came from nowhere wrote a book based around this rune. It's said this rune joined three entities, representatives who together stood for time." Her young fingers traced the image on the scrap. "Most see an hourglass divided by a wand, but I was taught that the rune depicts three beasts as seen from above. On the left side, was Past curled on his side, the middle, Present stretched to her full length, and the right, Future with her long tail completing the curve."

A knock sounded on the classroom door and students began piling in for the next lesson. Harriet capitalized on the moment and pressed her finger onto the rune on the scrap of parchment, burning it quickly, sending a small trail of smoke upward. When she knew the symbol could not be repaired and before the professor could ask her anything further, she darted from the room against the tide of incoming students and disappeared down the halls.

]|[

Luna did her best to not allow the everyday angers of current life affect her. The wrackspurts had far too many nesting opportunities as it stood, and she had higher priorities. The students around her flitted about, caring about the new trend, or who had kissed who, or gossiping about Harriet's tussle before potions yesterday. But all of that old news did not factor into her timetable more than registering the information and perhaps not even then.

No. The true importance at hand was that the environment of this class lacked _._ It lacked direction and substance and motivation. She stared into a teacup that they had not been asked to channel magic into and pretended it held _meaning._

She wrote her notes, tuning the dramatic divination professor out. Absentmindedly watching wrackspurts fly through her table partner's ears as he gnashed his teeth and struggled to see anything in a cup that _wasn’t channeled to reveal anything._ They might as well be drinking and analyzing tea served by a muggle.

Harriet could teach this class better. And she had failed her entire OWL in this subject. Professor Dumbledore's belief in prophecy had to be the only reason Trelawney maintained her position. Or he had never actually tested if she could teach.

She blinked owlishly. Her writing hand dropped to curl into her lap. _What if she never actually had to provide qualifications?_

Testing for her own purposes, Luna twirled her fingers under the tablecloth, sending a tendril of magic towards the woman at the bottom of the amphitheater. The magic did not touch her, nor did it halt her rave regarding mortal peril, moreover it paused a foot in front of her face and waved spastically.

Two of her classmates started, confused as though they had seen something out of the corner of their eye. A third rubbed their eyes and squinted, attempting to make sense of what waved in front of him. Trelawney continued on as if nothing had changed between one second and the next.

Luna deflated, losing her intent, causing the purple magic to dissipate. The woman may have the gift of prophecy, but outside of it, she was no seer. She possessed no gift for the Sight and they were being taught by a complete hack. She didn't even have enough scant ability to see magic when it wasn't forced into visualization. 

Luna stood, and walked out of the class seconds before the not-teacher dismissed them and the rest of the class followed. Her head seemed to clear the further she got from the crackpot and her foul smells, but a prick in her brain told her she could not afford to lose herself. She wandered the halls, slowly making her way to the library, but staying within sight of a larger crowd. A yellow mop of hair had followed her from the divination tower and she soon saw red coming from another passage.

The library doors beckoned ahead of her, and changing course she moved towards them. Weasley had not chosen to keep his distance as he tracked her today, unlike the blond boy. He sped towards her, not slowing as he violently checked her shoulder, sending her stumbling towards the doors. He tried to taunt her, but Luna used the momentum to stumble into the library and around the sour madam's desk.

She rolled her shoulder and checked her side bag, making sure nothing had ripped. Her arm felt jarred and bruised, but hopefully nothing would show. Then she answered the librarian's pinched expression with a small shake of her head and a dreamy smile. Luna had dealt with worse than a frustrated Ron Weasley, and she wasn't ready to let average problems anger her today. Magical theory did not research itself and she had more significant concerns.

She straightened her spine, readjusted her grip on her bag, and dove into the shelves.

]|[

Light blond hair whipped around the double doors to the library and Ron took a hasty step forward. Good, she had better run from him. “You’re a right coward, Looney!” He stared for another moment at the now closed doors then scoffed and stomped towards the stairs that would take him to the entrance hall.

The righteous anger in him did not dissipate even after taking action. It broiled beneath his skin and made his palms itch. She might have seemed not so bad last year with the DA and all, but that's before Looney decided to mindwipe his best friend away from him. That had to be what all of this crap started with. Even Dumbledore had said it, Harriet had been pulled away from the ‘positive driving force in her life’. Ron knew he filled that role, he knew his responsibility to the fate of the wizarding world. Harriet just needed to see it again, too.

He pushed through a crowd of second years blocking the hallway to the courtyard and made his way out into the sunlight. On the edge of the grass, as he spotted Hermione near the lake, small fingers latched onto his sleeve. A pale boy with pursed lips stood at his elbow. His mustard yellow hair matched so completely with his yellow tie and uniform that the whole picture jarred in Ron’s eye. His height drew in significantly shorter than the Gryffindor, but then again, Ron’s last growth spurt put him up at the height of a seventh year. 

“She can’t get away with just that, you know. It’s not nearly enough.” The boy spoke with a strange fever. “And that girl you care about, they’ve both gone very dark.”

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re talking about, ‘Puff?”

“Professor Dumbledore sent me with a message.” That stopped Ron’s words short. Dumbledore would know what to do, he always had a plan. Surely, the hero of the last great war would help them become the heroes of this war, then Ron would take his rightful place with Hermione and Harriet in wizarding society. He waited, but the boy only continued to smile in his disarming manner.

“What’s the message?” He slightly snarled and turned on the younger boy, but the brat did not retreat.

“They both will need to be taught a _swift and difficult_ lesson for the Greater Good, if anything is to improve.” He turned and walked directly away. Ron watched his back, confusion shifting to motivation. So, there could be a way to regain his position and rise higher. The esteemed headmaster had offered him direction once more. His brain began to strategize the game.

Inside the Hufflepuff’s mind, laughter clawed at the seams in Klaus’ skull and a lopsided grin slunk across his lips. Fooling children his age took so little effort. His lips twisted further just thinking of how brainwashed the redhead had become by the codger that ran Hogwarts’ hallowed halls. How easily the boy chose to believe what the man told him, so long as it suited his own desires. _Or,_ He thought spitefully, _The messages he thinks the man is delivering._ Witnessing such sheep loyalty in the headmaster stoked the malic in his thoughts.

_Grandmother hates Dumbledore nearly as much as the Blacks. Never would I play errand boy!_ He would sooner run his fingers through hot coals and suck off the ash.

]|[

Harriet found Luna in the library that evening, having not seen her at dinner. She snuck into the kitchens on her way and set her basket of snacks on the chair near the blonde. Not a single hair poked out of place on her head, but the tabletop in front of her and the ink stains on her fingers spoke of a frustration she rarely fell into. “What’s the calamity?”

“There’s absolutely nothing on magical theory in this library. Dark or light oriented.” She picked her wand up with ink stained fingers and used it to close the seven open books in front of her and straighten the table. Ink fingerprints even scrubbed themselves clean from the wood. Harriet picked the pile up while she waited for Luna to gather her things and the food basket.

“So you have a theory.” Harriet knew Luna didn’t always appreciate one sided conversations, no matter how effective they were.

“Either the Blacks have studied it as family knowledge, or some group that has been in charge of education for a very long time is not interested in students broadening magical horizons. Magical creation may simply have been dying out for generations.” They paused long enough for Harriet to dump the books into the return bin, and exited the doors.

With the late hour, they detoured carefully away from the stragglers working their way back to common rooms and sidestepped into a secret passage. It dropped them out on the sixth floor not far from their preferred nook behind the miniature dragon statue. Though smaller than in life, the stone replica with its outstretched wingspan still dwarfed any full grown wizard, much less the two witches that never required a bow to tuck into the alcove behind.

Two black leather bound journals hovered in mid-air at eye level when they arrived. For all intensive purposes, they were identical. A pang shot through Harriet at how similar they also appeared to another book from her memory, and she froze as Luna reached forward. Her hand passed through a small barrier, and one journal dropped from its suspension with a frisson of magic. Luna dove for it, catching it and turning it over in her hands. Silver flashed beneath her fingers as her hands passed over the cover for the first time. A silver hare embossed itself onto the fresh leather.

Luna stared in awe at the magic occurring before her and Harriet remained rooted to the spot. The second journal suspended unmoving in front of her and her itching fingers magnetically drew themselves to it forcing her arm to unglue from her side. Once more, when fingertips passed through the barrier, the book within dropped. Her seeker instincts had her catching the journal in her outstretched palm, her body only moving enough to lift onto the balls of her feet. 

The supple cover slapped into her hand. A thin magic tendril prodded questioningly into her palm, quickly finding the answer it sought. Before her eyes, a detailed silver depiction of her patronus embedded itself onto the leather cover. The shaggy grimm looked back at her from the depths of the leather, and she swore she saw a gleam of mischief in it’s one visible eye.

“Please tell me I’m not going to be waking up tomorrow in the hospital wing covered in blood.” Harriet deadpanned. “I just don’t have the brain power for that right now.”

“It’s a very good thing you don’t believe in luck. Otherwise you’d curse yourself far too often.” Luna spoke as she moved back to her side. She lifted the journal in her hands to compare the two. “Interesting. Whatever spell this is did a fine job of recreating Sirius’ likeness.” Her head nodded to the cover that Harriet held.

“So you’re not familiar with what this charmwork is either?”

The eagle within her had her fingers flipping through pages as her dreamy voice floated back. “I can’t recall having read anything like it before. Nothing that questioning, yet neutral.” She abruptly stopped on her second flip through. There - several pages into the journal - an inked message waited. Her hands readjusted and she nudged Harriet, pushing the book between them.

“Do you see this?”

“It’s blank.”

Purple eyes flickered to green and her pale eyebrows rose. “It’s really not. Check the third page of yours.”

Harriet grumbled, but flicked through the first several pages until she reached the third page. Luna, looking over her shoulder, could see nothing but parchment. “Shit, there actually is something here.” Harriet cleared her throat and read aloud from the page while Luna’s eyes traced each corresponding word in her own book.

**_You have displayed an aptitude and a desire for improvement in magical creation and potions. Both are subjects in which I would be willing to assist. The first is a sensitive subject amongst the wrong crowds, therefore, these messaging journals have been charmed to only display the contents to the owner of the magical signature they are imprinted with. All three are connected._ **

**_You know my identity in two manners. One I feel you will favor considerably more._ **

**_The potential you present is more rare than you understand, I urge you to continue your study into magical creation safely. Few others can or will. My assistance is offered, in comfort under anonymity, or more effective tutelage in person._ **

**_The Half Blood Prince_ **

Harriet’s voice trailed off on the introduction of the title. It had been twenty four hours since she had expressed a desire to meet this prince and suddenly the character happened to be fully aware of their interest. The man must be more paranoid than Mad-eye or Barty Crouch Jr. Thankfully he also seemed to possess a modicum of sanity, though. The only obvious crazies currently on campus were Dumbledore, Trelawney, and Filch. This tone of writing and this handwriting itself did not match any of those three. _Granted, Filch has never actually written anything in my eyeline. But it’s doubtful he is illiterate._

She plopped down on the floor, fishing out her potions textbook and turned to any random page. Shifting the text so that the witch settling beside her could see, she compared the handwriting. There existed a certain level of fluidity in the journal’s writing that lacked in the other source, spiky letters moving more seamlessly from one to the next. Yet apart from more years of practicing and a lack of ink smears from rushing, the handwriting’s strokes followed one another in perfect synchronicity. Both samples had to be written by the same person.

“So, he is alive.” Luna broke the long silence. “How much do we trust?”

“We trust that he has knowledge that we are interested in, and that he knows far more about us than we do him. From there we figure out what to trust as we go. We need to rectify the knowing us issue, though. That’s not going to let me sleep tonight.” 

She pulled the open journal front and center and two self inking quills from her bag. “Here.” She handed one quill to Luna. “Let’s see how many questions we can bombard him with before he is the one requesting a meeting.”

Turning to a fresh page, she figured she would start with all the questions she had begun compiling regarding the prince’s potion techniques that deviated from standard curriculum. Best to start an interrogation off simple, after all.

Question after question appeared in both her and Luna’s handwriting, and she had to admit how unfair this method came across. None of the answers were easy. Hours passed into the night and at some point, watching the returning words from the prince etch themself onto the page, Harriet dozed off.

]|[

The fireplaces that lined the underground cavern of the ministry atrium glowed brightly, casting long shadows on the milling crowd. The people around Harriet moved too quickly for her to recognize them, or else they never fully faced her. The same little pop up lunch cafe as the day of her trial surrounded one half of the fountain, yet no one in the crowd stopped to partake. She pushed through them, her shoulders brushing fabrics but not feeling any solid weight behind them, and dropped into the untrafficed dining area. The food counter’s lights were on, but it too lacked occupancy. Only one table seated any company. 

“Tata,” She breathed. Racing to the center table and throwing herself into his arms, he felt more solid than anything else around her. 

“My pup!” His deep voice reminded her of home, and his hands clasped her to him in a hold so tight she struggled for breath. But breathing didn’t matter right then. He pulled her head back to look at her and the calluses on his fingers scratched her skin when he brushed the hair from her face. “You’ve grown! Well, no. You have gained absolutely nothing in the height department, but you have become a bloody lady!”

Harriet’s eyebrow twitched amidst her happiness in response to the height jab, but Tata carried on. He leaned forward to whisper, as if someone were attempting to listen in.

“When the fuck did you let that happen?”

She burst into the deepest round of laughter she could remember in a long while, because only _her_ father would blame his child for puberty. Other kids had nice normal discussions where they blushed about their crush and were told things would work out, while her father threatened her to stop growing.

“Sweet Salazar, Tata. I haven’t really changed at all.” She attempted to downplay but he refused to concede. He pouted, and Harriet lost her resolve to fight him, even jokingly. Pulling a chair up to his side she sat next to him, holding his large hands in her tiny fingers. “I’ll always be your pup, even when I’m old and grey and finally allowed to have sex.” She joked.

An indescribable parental emotion passed through his eyes and for as funny as Harriet found her joke, he didn’t laugh. He threatened softly, “I would create a boy repelling charm for you were it still within my power.”

“Let's never have anyone create that.” Her shoulders shuddered, thinking of the implications. She deviated quickly, “I may have someone to apprentice under for magical creation. You’d like him. Luna says he is dreamy since he is a prince, but he seems clever. Though, I’ve no idea who he actually is yet.”

“At Hogwarts?” He continued after she nodded. “Remember, trust is earned, but use anyone who can give you knowledge that will keep you and yours alive.”

She nodded solemnly and her father’s arms closed around her again. “I love you, my pup.” His lips brushed her forehead. They stayed like that for a long while, time melding around them. Harriet chose to lose herself in the quiet minutes. “You will always be my daughter,” he whispered, and the feeling of safety that Tata provided cocooned her. A pang pierced through her heart, feeling the pull of wakefulness as the moment began to ebb away.

As she came to, the cold stone at her back made a stark comparison to Tata’s warmth. Luna, fast asleep on her shoulder, burrowed further into her and away from the ice at their backs. She pulled the unfamiliar blanket resting on them further up on her sister’s shoulder and scanned their alcove with a small burst of magic. A green bubble of light flared out and pulled back toward her, bringing her information about her surroundings. Complex warding that tasted neither like her whiskey tinted magic, nor like the clean ocean scent Luna’s magic carried, covered the alcove entry. Enough to hide them and deny any others entry until classes began in several hours. Whoever had lent a hand had some significant skill with twisting magical intricacies. 

She shifted, and the blanket fell from where it had been carefully tucked around her neck. It dropped just so, revealing half a page of the journal Harriet had been reading before she had fallen asleep. Several questions were marked as “see below” and a message waited at the very bottom.

**_Tomorrow afternoon, after classes. 3pm. Meet in the Entrance Hall. If you still wish to continue, we shall discuss your more in depth questions._ **

**_Additionally, perhaps sleeping in an alcove in a cold castle is a poor way to spend an evening._ **

Knowing there were several hours until they would be due to appear at Friday morning classes, Harriet rested her head on the blonde’s and let the steady breathing lull her back to sleep. The mysterious wards would keep them safe enough.

]|[

Friday morning’s double transfigurations class inched by in a way Harriet could only attribute to sloppy torture. Ravenclaw now partnered with the Gryffindors for this class and the shrill voices of so many more outbursts of barely contained knowledge made her feel more sympathy for Severus Snape as a professor than she ever previously had. Granger only raised her volume in response, unrelentingly motivated to not be outdone by anyone else at any time. 

The Gryffindors in her year, not including Granger had turned their attention back to Harriet. Weasley looked up often from his brooding group with Seamus and Dean, flicking bits of parchment at the black haired witch. He missed the majority of the time, but the constant motion only worsened the throbbing in her temple. Lavender nudged her every couple minutes when a Ravenclaw spoke loud enough to disguise her hissing, asking for information about how Malfoy had _performed_ and if she’d recommend him to Lavender for her _down there._ Harriet’s tongue rubbed the roof of her mouth raw, so tempted to answer back and remind the bitch just exactly what a _hiss_ sounded like. 

With how often Harriet flinched and mashed her fingers into the grooves of her skull, it amazed her McGonagall had yet to take points from her in particular. Perhaps the professor hadn’t seen the signs of her ballooning pain. She looked at her most haggard, fielding the outbursts that devolved her lesson with each new addition. 

Years before, had anyone told Harriet she’d be inclined to get up and leave her first formal lesson on the animagus transformation, she’d have called them ‘a bit barmy in the head’. Having had a first hand account of the process while others debated the theory wrongly did not even concern her enough to try. Her skin itched, and she wanted out of a form anyone but Luna would recognize. Finally, a quarter before the class was due to release, her harried head of house shoved them out the door after doubling the length of the essay they were due to write and refusing to answer any more questions that day.

Students parted drastically upon exiting the door, and through the gap of her peers, Harriet saw Draco Malfoy leaning as casually as he could manage upon the railing. He locked eyes with her and straightened when she stepped from the room. Her magic itched for something to explode. It spiraled in her core lashing barely under control and ached to _rend, tear, shatter._

She blinked the darkness of that instinct away, positive that the transfiguration corridor full of naive students simply wasn’t the place.

The Slytherin stepped up to her, surprisingly not sneering. “I wondered if we might have a word.”

Behind Harriet, Lavender tittered loudly to Parvati who giggled back. With the absence of someone who could take points, apart from the glaring prefect badge on Malfoy’s chest, the stopper on her bottled up patience burst. She threw her arms to the sides and exclaimed, “Salazar and Godric just fucked Helga over while Rowena watched!”

“Pardon?” Malfoy’s shell shocked look concealed itself terribly behind his cracked mask.

“Follow.” She took off, setting a brisk pace from her classmates and not caring if Malfoy could keep up. Congested thoughts lead her outside, across the wide expanse of the Hogwarts lawn, and into the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. For a moment, nothing but her own heavy breathing broke the peaceful rustle of leaves, then the quick thumping of shoes broke the spell.

Turning about, she dropped onto the base of a fallen tree and watched Malfoy double over to catch his breath. _He acts like he’d never done physical exercise a day in his life._

He wheezed and she waited. Finally upright once more, he spoke, “I wanted to talk about the train.” She quirked her head, swearing his cheeks had flared just the slightest bit pink. “I wondered if you might enjoy a chat with me sometime.”

“We are talking now.”

“...So we are, but perhaps a chat over a meal?”

She squinted in thought, “That wouldn’t work at the house tables… I suppose we could ask the house elves in the kitchens for food, but I thought you wanted to talk?”

He sighed and looked upward before pulling off his bag and sitting beside her on the tree. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Malfoy, we are _already_ chatting.”

“You’re different from last year,” he said, changing the subject. He looked down at her and something in that stare had her wondering if there could be any dirt underneath her nails. “You tell people off and say more of what you mean to more than just Slytherins.”

He’d been watching her? Harriet didn’t have a reply.

His pale hand lifted a curl of her hair from where it rested on her shoulder, the inky strands contrasting so completely as they fell from his fingers. “This no longer looks like you’ve just woken up, it really suits you this way. You don’t flinch away from me as much. I think that’s as good a sign as any. I plan to talk again soon, so prepare yourself, Potter.”

He smiled a smirky Malfoy but-not-intentionally-being-a-prat thing, before picking up his bag and retreating up the lawn.

She watched his back with suspicion. A riot of theories erupting in her mind, her eyes squinted as if that could make up for each step he put between their figures. _Has he gone mad? Perhaps he ate something off and has not been himself._ A near civil conversation, neglecting to trade even a single insult, did not carry the usual Malfoy flair. Had someone really thought polyjuicing themself into the single peer she fought with most would be a benefit for getting information from her?

“What a barmy shite…”

]|[

“Three chocolate frogs that he's a ghost.”

“Ghosts can’t create or move journals, sister.” Luna replied, holding out her hand expectantly. Harriet reached into the extended pocket of her bag she reserved exclusively for her candy stash, pulling out the three frogs and slapped them into the waiting palm. “A chocolate orange says the prince is Flitwick. Who knows, maybe Goblins have royalty?”

“Bet.”

They leaned against the wall of the entrance hall, watching students in groups or heading outside. Luna squinted at the flash of a camera bulb. “How many pictures of you do you wager Colin Creevey has taken this year alone?”

Harriet’s shoulders sagged, “It’s been a whopping three days. I imagine he has enough pictures of my hand in front of my face to fill half an album by now. Thank fuck he wasn’t present at the end of transfig today. Though, it could have been entertaining to see a small confrontation with Malfoy break out.”

“Tell me you’re not picking fights with Slytherins again.” She laughed a sly thing.

“It was only a conversation! He just wanted to talk.”

Luna turned her dreamy smile on the other girl, “I doubt that.” Harriet stared at her confused. “You don’t have any more height coming your way, but to teenage boys you’re much more woman than you were last year.”

Luna waved a hand slowly down the other’s figure and Harriet felt a sudden tingle on her skin. She whispered and yelled simultaneously. “There’s no way. What the fuck am I supposed to do with new shite? I barely knew how to interact before!”

“You know how, you just were never aware of it.”

A shadow loomed over them, forcing them to turn their backs to the wall. The familiar sneer spat from above them. “Ms. Potter. Since you and Ms. Lovegood find yourselves with the time to loiter and cause ruckus in the hall, you will better serve that time in detention. Now.”

His robe hem cracked as he turned and set a quick pace towards the upper floors that the grumbling witches struggled to follow. He led them not to the defense classroom as they expected, but rather to a door down the hall. They stepped into a private office that seemed to serve as more of a library than anything else before he opened a side door and ushered them through, halting the snooping itch in Harriet’s veins.

She turned on the professor, “We weren’t even being that loud, besides, _Sir_. It’s important that we go back to the hall, we have a meeting!”

“Perhaps,” Snape spoke, shutting them into the potions lab, “You’d do better to cast the muffling spell that you both have taken to so easily.” He pinned them with a scathing look and pressed a familiar leather journal to the tabletop, covering the silver impression with his hand. “Sit. Your questions require...explanation. I expect that you will take thorough notes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and tell me your thoughts!
> 
> Kudos as always are so very appreciated!


	9. The Prince’s Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is currently like attempting to separate applesauce from sand with only your bare hands.
> 
> Someone send a sifter. Or fresh apples...
> 
> Enough said.
> 
> More tags added that pertain to this chapter! I will continue to do so in future chapters if you see new tags, that's what is happening!

“Sit. Your questions require...explanation. I expect that you will take thorough notes.” 

Harriet slumped onto the stool, brain spinning around the information presented to her. Half-Blood Prince, Professor Severus Snape. How the fuck had she been so blind? A reasonable answer to, ‘Who in the castle treasured a potions textbook?’ would of course be one of two Potion Masters currently in residence. _Prince Snape_ . That didn’t ring right. _Prince Severus?_ Better.

“Prince Sev!” She called out, the words bursting from her thoughts.

“Fifteen points from Gryffindor.” 

Harriet could not look away. She watched his eyes widen marginally at the same time that his lips disappeared into a thin line. She held her hand out to the other witch and felt the cold press of a foil covered ball. “Luna, it’s not Prince Flitwick, it’s Prince Sev.”

Disgust smeared his cheeks, “Twenty points. Cease your insipid theories.”

Harriet opened the foil on the table top, releasing the sweet scent of chocolate and orange. Breaking off a slice she offered it to the man. “Would you like one? Chocolate helps with shocking events.” She laughed as he halted his urge to recoil and she plopped the piece into her own mouth.

Luna spoke from her elbow, “You’re much less stressed when we're asleep.”

“Of course-” He stopped himself, choking on the soundless air. His pale hand rose from the journal and covered his ashened face. The witches took a nosey moment, glancing between the delicate doe posed just in the motion of turning away, and the professor. His hand dropped, revealing his face once more and this time the blank Potions Master had returned. A smooth wave of his wand summoned a stool from the outskirts of the room and he settled himself into it, not losing an inch of his posed stature.

“Sit and we shall begin. Potter, put the candy away.” The wand tapping repetitively on his knee betrayed his smooth mask. 

She reluctantly did so, after sneaking another bite and a wedge over to her sister’s hand below the table. With a heavy sigh, Snape flicked open his journal to what appeared to be a completely blank page and summoned a small iron cauldron and basic preparation tools. The stirring rod and preparation knives lined themselves up carefully to the right of the cauldron.

“You’ll not be mutilating any ingredients or bastardizing any potions until I have judged you competent to implement these techniques. We will begin in regards to the counter stir.”

The sisters exchanged a look of humor. _Snape is a very no-nonsense kind of wizard._

A flick from his wand filled the small cauldron from the tap at the end of the table. They watched as his pale fingers moved in fluid synchronicity, stowing his wand and raising the stirring implement. Despite the similarity in shape, his hand tested their varying weight differently. As the iron slipped into his fingers, the heavy weight of it seemed to pull it into position with flair.

“I know for a matter of record, I _personally_ taught you both to brew the Pepper-Up potion. Regardless of how much of it you recall,” He sneered “It is an excellent first example for this technique.”

He continued, “The counter stir is an adaptive technique, which relies heavily upon the consistency of the potion in the step presently being performed. The Pepper-Up is a simple potion throughout its steps, maintaining the consistency of water, a counter stir is more needed than most _imbeciles_ care to understand. Observe.”

With a practiced motion from years of repetition, Snape evenly stirred the plain water seven times clockwise then removed the rod and the witches watched as the liquid within continued to flow in the same clockwise swirl for three more repetitions before the current dribbled away.

He continued, “The number of counter stirs is determined by not only the speed of the original clockwise stirring and count, but also the viscosity of the potion’s current step-”

“Viscosity? But that’s a muggle term!” Harriet interrupted.

Snape shot her a scathing look, “Who could have guessed, Miss Potter, that the _Half-Blood_ Prince might have something peculiar to add?”

She opened her mouth to respond in kind when Lovegood’s hand firmly muffled the sound and the blonde spoke instead. “Viscosity?”

“The measurement of friction within a liquid. To speak in wizarding terms, thickness.” They both ignored the flaring emerald eyes as he continued. “In the case of low viscosity in ‘thin’ liquids, like water, a greater number will be necessary. However, too many will defeat the purpose and set back progress on the potion. This technique is also to be done at half the pace of the previous counts, in order to optimize your goal.”

He repeated his original seven clockwise strokes in the water filled cauldron. Then instead of removing the stirring rod, changed direction and circled the basin twice in a counterclockwise motion at half the speed. The liquid within fought the current change initially, but settled to stillness as he removed the stirring implement.

“Seven strokes clockwise, two counterstirs.” He flipped the handle of the rod in the fingers outward for them to take and held it across the tabletop. “Begin.” 

]|[

Severus turned as Lovegood dropped her hand and prepared himself for Potter’s outburst. Surely James Potter’s scion would not take his curt tone without some childish retort.

Yet, the only response came in the quiet murmur as each girl tried the technique and compared their findings in turns, repeating the motions to smooth the rhythm of their movements.

He flipped through the various texts he had brought from his personal quarters, as he watched them from the corner of his eye. The sight of her did not inspire memories of either James Potter or Lily. Potter would have scoffed at extra lessons, disregarding that potions had been a subject he had fared badly in. He preferred gallivanting about the school, disrupting other’s well being and breaking as many rules as he could cross with his damn reputation. Lily...had been talkative. A desire to chatter over her cauldron that Severus had never been able to pin to either her personality or to enjoying the stricken look on his own face when it forced him to respond.

Instead, Harriet Potter reminded him of himself. He revolted just enough at that thought to flinch as his fingers grasped the corner of an eighteenth century ingredients index and the corner tore.

_Fucking shit on a stick._

He forced the words to not leave his mouth, and stood there holding the scrap as he limited himself to regulating his breathing. Harriet Potter had too open of a facade, she failed spectacularly at self control, she could never be anything like a Slytherin. Except…

~~~

The racket of another Order meeting coming to a close rose as the girl hauled Black out the kitchen door. Severus marveled at her ability to maneuver the full grown man as the fool wasn’t going willingly. _Granted, he has yet to pick up his wand, so he isn't struggling too hard._ Still watching her reprimand her godfather would be far more interesting than becoming stuck in a _chat_ with Molly Weasley or any of her irritatingly numerous offspring.

He found them quickly by Potter's voice. The silent hall did not require him to employ any of his usual eavesdropping techniques, and they had not thought to put up any privacy spells. _Fucking naivety._

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that. He’s doing the best he can with these lessons. It’s not his fault I’m absolute rubbish at Occlumency!”

“I don’t like him rioting in your head, pup! Slytherins like _Snivellus-”_ Black’s sneer was ripped aside in the hailstorm of her words and the anger in them buffeted the door Severus leaned against.

“DON’T CALL HIM THAT. It’s enough! I can’t take this. You two bite every moment you speak to each other and every moment you speak to me! Dumbledore acts as though my very presence is toxic and I’m being forced to write lines in my blood!” Her voice choked off for a moment for her to breathe in a haggard breath and then it burst out of her once more. “The Godric damned hat wanted me in Slytherin, Tata! Snape can be a right dick but right now he is the most helpful professor I have. If you call him that again, I will hex you. Mid order meeting or not.”

Severus slumped against the door, digesting what he had heard. Anyone would have to be dead and cold to not notice the behavior between himself and Black, it had spanned generations now. The headmaster had spoken of his suspicions regarding the girl’s connection to the Dark Lord and the darkness that seemed to be manifesting in her, but had not deigned to explain to the potions master why he chose to abandon the girl once more. _Slytherin. The hat._ She could be lying, but Harriet Potter had never excelled at deception unless it protected someone else. This protected no one but her. _No. This was said in pain. This is truth that she has buried for years._ Severus knew all about truths that took form and tested self control. Truths that pulled themselves upward with anger and pain and rested just in the hollow of his throat, waiting for the moment in emotion when they could slip free of his grasp. He had years of training, first in Slytherin, then in service as a spy to two lords, she had no control to draw from.

The wood at his back pulled away and he caught himself on the doorframe before he could splay backward in a heap on the ground. Black stood there, wide eyed and like the lost mutt he became in his free time. They both shifted back from the close proximity on instinct and Severus loathed to agree with him even on mutual animosity.

His words came out strangled, _“Sniv-”_ He glanced behind himself warily, _“_ _Snape_ _._ Pup won’t get up- There’s something fucked up on her hand. It looks like words- She’s refusing to let me get Albus and I’m shite at healing.”

Her voice echoed in his mind, _‘_ _And I’m being forced to write lines in my blood!’ Blood lines. Motherfucking blood quill._

He whirled into the room, Black shutting the door then following on his heels. She sat in the center of the room, bent legs splayed in front of her, but her arms secured to her chest and her head bowed. The long hair, _longer than Lily’s had ever been,_ which finally had started to tame the famous Potter curse, hid all of her face from view. Severus knelt in front of her, yet she did not acknowledge him. He looked towards her hands, reluctant to take the mongrel's word for it, but needing to confirm what she herself had blurted. He pulled her left wrist forcefully from her side, earning a squawk from the dogfather kneeling behind her. The shiny red raised skin of a newly healed over scar etched words in a handwriting he had become too familiar with over the years.

_‘I will respect my betters’_

_“Who?!”_ He snarled, though the answer had shoved itself into his mind, his barely there morals required confirmation before committing a murder. _Reptillian bloodsucking leech of a bitch. Perhaps gutting or maybe that's being too kind-_

Harriet raised her head and he had the distinct displeasure of watching a single tear fall onto previously dry cheeks. He had protected this child, Lily’s daughter, from four defense professors, what was another? Her voice caused something in his heart to hurt like the day he had seen her fall from her broom at the height of the quidditch pitch while dementors streamed onto the field. She sounded...resigned. “You can’t stop her. She will sack you. She’ll find a way. I need you too much right now, you’re the only one that can help me with my mind.”

He wanted to bolt from the tears that continued to stream down her face, but her eyes turned to steel and her fingers wrapped around his own wrist. He had nowhere to go when she looked at him in such a defiant but lost way. So he settled on the ground beside her and he nodded, planning a smaller revenge that wouldn’t be traced back to him. Together the three sat on the drawing room floor, his wrist still held in her tense hand, the words thrown into sharp relief and Black at her back, holding onto her shoulders as if that stopped him too from taking revenge. Their eyes met an hour later as she dozed off onto the floor, using Severus’s cloak as a pillow. For once in his life, disgust at agreeing with Sirius Black did not rise within him. They locked eyes as the snow fell outside the window and holiday music played from across the hall and decided. The bitch would regret the day she harmed Harriet Potter.

When term restarted for the spring semester, no one noticed Severus’ twitch in the staff room as McGonagall once more helplessly spoke of Miss Potter recieving detention from the pink toad. As the girl stumbled out of the accursed bitch’s office that night cradling a bleeding hand, no other soul had been present to see the potions master step from the shadows. He could not stop everything, but Severus could sure as hell get the blasted scars to disappear as much as possible. When she gratefully smiled at him in exhaustion as her hand soaked, he had a fleeting wish that he could deliver the treatment itself with a few less insults and scathing remarks. Perhaps, that had been just one more of those things he sacrificed of himself so long ago.

~~~

They spent many hours stirring in the cauldron that evening under Severus’ cautious eye. Their intelligence proved itself, as they quickly grasped the concept and transitioned into the differences in thicker liquids that mimicked other potion consistencies. Severus even tested their adaptations by raising and lowering the heat to simulate a brewing process step. When their sarcasm reappeared, indicating they understood the lesson and had become impatient, he cleared the table and moved on.

“Magical theory requires much more than intent to create a spell which can be utilized by the masses. Intent benefits the individual witch or wizard who is seeking to perform magic, either repetitively or not, while not establishing it in a more tangible form.” Severus lectured. Whenever mentioning ‘intent’ a slight narrowing of his eyes would land on Harriet, but otherwise, his speech remained calm.

Lovegood spoke as he paused, “Your original message mentioned theory being a sensitive topic in circles, and there is nothing on it in the library. The Blacks hid a great deal of it away in their basement, why are these theories never mentioned?”

The potions master leaned back in on his chair, preparing himself for the much longer discussion. “At one point, these principles were taught in seventh year classes and mastery level courses. As more fear developed of the potential misuse, this was altered to only mastery, then eventually nothing at all. If they are taught today outside of forbidden texts or the oral tradition, I believe only the Department of Mysteries would teach such things. Firmly under blanketed oaths and the direct supervision of ministry leadership.”

“And yet you created all these spells…” Harriet’s curious words trailed away from her.

Severus stared between the two heads, at the stone wall behind them, forcing words through his teeth instead of shutting down and demanding they leave. “The wizarding line I solely inherited from also had books on magical theory. Those that passed the line on had not touched them in _years_ ,” he sneered, “for they had a thickened layer of dust upon their pages.”

A hush fell in the room, highlighting the oddity of a potions lab with nary a bubbling potion in hearing distance. The two teenagers did not dare to move. Hardly breathing, they waited for him to continue. A voice within the forefront of Severus’s mind begged for an interruption after so personal of a revelation and his quick draw temper waited in the wings of his mind. When they held their compliance, he continued.

“Diction matters. Similar sounding spell incantations can produce different effects when used on a public scale, just as power level or intent can. In classes, testing out spells for the first time, you see this principle. For this very reason you see why one witch’s summoning charm is faster than another’s or why Mr. Finnigan consistently causes explosions before practicing his pronunciation. Why, for instance, spells can fail altogether. If intent, diction, and movement do not sync, a spell is not accessible by the masses. Here, nonverble charms are the easiest to perfect.”

Harriet gave a low chuckle causing both Severus and Lovegood to look her way. She had a pained nostalgia twisting her lips. “So, messing things up like Wingardium Leviosa…” Severus did not understand the reference to the first year curriculum; but when the blonde patted Harriet’s shoulder and her eyes became glassy, he rushed to deviate both students with the remainder of that night’s lesson.

]|[

Harriet felt the stares, but no matter how often she walked the same corridor and repeated the process of looking over her shoulder, she could not see the faces. All she saw were colored ties and hoods on robes in four shades. Each stare said something. 

“Our precious Chosen One.” She didn’t belong to them…

“If she is losing it, how will I keep it together?” The expectations of others were too heavy…

“A new notch on Malfoy’s wand.” The pink toad may have been carried off of Hogwarts’ property, but many were just as uninterested in the truth as Umbridge had been…

“Potter or You-know-who, who wins in a bar fight?” The jokes of immature boys, told either because no other understood the gravity of her situation, or because they refused to face the war she had been sacrificed to.

Her pace quickened to a run, unencumbered by a bookbag, but no matter how hard her feet pushed her, she could not escape the corridor. All four houses continued to laugh and stare. Her gaze played tricks on her and she swore she saw flashes of jet black hoods covering bone white masks in the deepest crowds. Breathing began to fail her and as her energy flagged, a door she had not noticed opened. An arm pulled on her.

Strong hands wrestled her from the hall, pulling her into a warm body. She struggled for a moment and then the door they had entered through closed and their environment changed. As the lord’s bedroom in the Black townhouse glowed in her vision, Harriet’s breathing naturally calmed. Her new clarity brought their position to the forefront of her mind, the firm body behind her felt familiar and the pair of forearms wrapped about her midsection flexed as he brushed his fingers along the curve of her ribs. Green eyes were pulled upwards and the witch’s head followed, needing to look this man in the eye.

His name left her lips in a breathy exhale that turned the edges upwards in pleasure. “Tom.”

“Harriet.” He smiled at her, like he always did. That polite, close lipped grin that spoke of all the things he knew she wanted to hear.

“Help me, Tom. There’s just too much in my head...” She turned, pushing herself into his arms. She ignored the prefect badge that stabbed into her forearm as she held the collar of his robes.

His right hand traveled from its hold at her waist, firmly pressing along her ribs. The thin button up dress shirt did little to mute the overwhelming heat of his hand, and Harriet’s eyes fluttered as she fought to keep contact with his piercing blue gaze. His palm hit bare skin, forcing a whimper from her lips and moved to his goal, cupping the back of her neck and tilting her chin upward with his thumb.

She swallowed instinctively, knowing how easily his hand could shift to press fully on her throat. Feeling the control he exerted over her in that precise moment flooded her core with a heat that warmed her to the tips of her fingers. Her skin buzzed, not from magic, but from a need to have his hands on her _more._ Yet, she waited silently and watched the smug smile in the pair of blues inches away from her.

Tom leaned in, his breath ghosting along the tender skin beneath her jaw. The air of the room felt unbearably cold in comparison and she shivered. His voice, as strong as in the chamber all those years ago, but lacking any malice, spoke. “I protect what’s mine.”

He backed her to the bed and she let him, her feet following his in their seamless dance. Knees hit the mattress side and Tom once again moved. His hands caught the wrists she flung out to brace her fall, maneuvering them above her head. She felt his hands shift until both of her wrists were secure in one. With her wrists contained and the choices taken from her, Harriet felt herself breathing. The air moved into her lungs unrestricted by expectations, duty, or grief. She exhaled each breath bringing Tom's face into focus, starving for the details. Every strand of the inky brown hair and each sharp aristocratic line matched how cruel he could be. 

She saw the approval in his eyes the moment the weight left her shoulders. He leaned down, lips hovering over her own, their breaths blending and the moment stretched on. The forearm holding her wrists flexed when her tongue darted out to lick her lip. Tom seemed to decide in that moment, because he closed the distance between them, fingers tangling into her hair and Harriet moaned. His lips burned her and she desperately wanted to touch him back, yet the restraint itself brought a whole edge of _need._ He licked her lips, gaining entry and nipping the bottom one in thanks. The actions pulled something out of her and her tongue battled back, desperate for a taste of him, for something solid, and real. Then, all too soon, he pulled back and she could not help the needy whimper that followed as he leaned above her. In his eyes, only a faint line of blue could be seen, discarded by sheer want.

He smirked at her, the thumb of his free hand tracing her swollen lower lip. “That’s a good witch.” Harriet bucked underneath him, wanting more, needing to show him. But Tom just continued to watch her with that damned twist of his lips. 

Then, with a heated cry of frustration, Harriet woke up. She lurched awake, rolling off of the blankets and onto the cold stone of the alcove floor, breathing in rough breaths. Her head rested back on her folded arms after casting a glance to where Luna lay, still asleep. Need coursed through her, and she thought quickly of her options. She had already been gloriously lucky Luna hadn’t woken...but, a bathroom down the hall, and the hour was still early… 

Harriet pushed herself up from the floor, forcing herself to ignore any odd sensations. She missed the small smile as Luna burrowed into the covers behind her. Diving into the hallway, the witch preoccupied herself with maintaining enough self control to just keep her fingers out of her knickers until she could ward the bathroom door. 

In her dreams, Tom Riddle always made her wait. _The mark of a masochist._ Her intrusive thoughts interjected. The lock _snicked_ shut behind her and she lost the battle, fingertips dipping beneath the hem of her skirt.

]|[

Every ray of Saturday morning sunlight had entry barred from the potions lab by its master. Sconces filled with heatless fire lit Luna’s research as it lay spread upon the largest work table. Luna stood very still, her eyes widening when the man’s steady pace changed as he scanned the information. That slight indication remained the only acknowledgment of her nerves. Her sister, on the other hand, paced behind her, often approaching the table and walking back to continue treading a new seam into the stone floors. 

The minutes ticked by, accentuated by the tension of having Prince Sev look over her divination spell. She and Harriet had taken to calling Snape that, and apart from docking points, which phased neither witch, he had yet to have an extreme outburst. Granted, they did so with the care one would show a family member in a position of authority. There would be no offerings of ‘Prince Sev’ in the middle of a Defense lesson. They were not interested in the finer points of suicide by proxy or murder with witnesses.

Luna’s eyes widened once more as the man behind the table halted on a particular page and squinted. Squinting had not yet been part of the review process. Harriet dropped into a chair behind her and Luna whipped her head to face her sister.

“So? What’s the verdict? How much more work does she need?” Harriet met Luna’s eyes for a moment, but addressed the remainder of her attention to the Professor. 

Snape began to sort the paperwork into three columns on the table, and the eagle in her could no longer resist stepping forward to watch as he sorted her research. When all the scrolls were once again on the table, he spoke. “Not much. In fact, some of this is over processed and unnecessary. You have been brought to a stand still in your progress by your overanalysis of one tangent.”

He pointed to the pile on his right. “These documents are essential to the spell and already correctly completed with your arithmetic calculations. These,” he gestured in the middle, “Are the magical theory that I can assist with expansion. Finally, these are interesting, but superfluous. They will only hamper the spell’s development and make the results less effective.” His hand rested on the largest stack and Luna forced herself to acknowledge then push away the twinge of shame in her that yearned to say she had been right and that they were necessary. She came for learning, and should do her best to be a student.

So she listened. Together the three set aside the extraneous research and dove into the theory of this particular spell. Prince Sev walked them through each step, but had them also guessing before he gave any answers he felt them intelligent enough to discover. He managed to not take points the first time the nickname had been used to gain his attention, and only twitched his eye the second time.

They decided the spell would need to shimmer over the world within its area of effect, including the ground, animals, muggles, or wizardkind. To perform this spell the caster would need a sense of calm within themselves, particularly as the information they recieved would be overwhelming.

The afternoon sun observed them diligently as both witches followed their professor to the forbidden forest, under the guise of yet another detention. Luna watched Harriet pull a facade of irritation as they scuttled behind Snape, but Luna did not exert a similar effort. After years of her continued attendance, no one at Hogwarts felt surprise when Luna’s emotions did not display in the proper category.

The cool tempered treeline welcomed them, and both her companion’s shoulders dropped their lingering tension as they pressed further into the wildlife. Eagerly, the trio shed any lingering stares from the rear. They walked until the scent of wet earth surrounded them and they reached a grove of trees where the canopy only allowed flecks of blinding sunlight.

Luna walked to the center and the other two set off in opposite directions, tracking circles just inside the trunk line. The blonde inhaled, air coalescing in her lungs until her chest could expand no further. The breath seeped out slowly, and with it she allowed her senses to extend around her. Her magic pulled away from her in a thin fog, tasting the flavor of her surroundings. Dusted lips moved, her wand pulsed, and then life _spoke_ to her. 

She felt a shift of wind that would pick up the leaves on the ground and for a moment, they would fly with their brothers who still lived on the branches. Small animals will change the course of their run as they feel the flutter of magic. The unicorn on the edge tosses its mane but seems undisturbed. Harriet drops to the ground, pulling out her journal and scribbling a record of their findings from her perspective, as they agreed they would for every Prince lesson. Prince Sev will freeze in pride and awe at her accomplishment on her first attempt.

Luna herself, flies high with the wind on the feeling of success and firmly speaks to her family.

“Again.”

]|[

The textbook before her blurred and Hermione shook her head roughly to clear the daze. That had been the fifth time she had lost focus while attempting to finish her Runes essay on _Yevelt’s Absolution Conundrum_ as it related to objects becoming containers. She tucked one foot under her knee to prop the book up further as she sat on the couch in the Gryffindor common room and resisted the urge to rub her eye.

She could not get Harriet out of her mind.

The summer and her two interactions with her _previous -_ her mind flinched at the word - best friend, flashed before her. Harriet had slept once in their tower dorm in the nearly two weeks since the students had arrived back at the castle. Other than her perfect attendance in classes, and near silent meals with the first years, Harriet avoided everything Gryffindor like dragon pox. Not that Hermione could blame her, with how every year mate but sweet Neville seemed to react when Ron and herself had first condemned their friend. Afterall, who else would know Harriet better?

Self loathing washed through her and she wondered for the fifth time, how she could convince Ron to get over this feud, and where Harriet could possibly be sleeping on a drafty Tuesday night. She _knew_ Harriet. She knew something had to be off with everything she had heard this summer. In some part of Harriet there was the twelve year old witch who read books to Hermione because she couldn’t fall asleep after the Grangers discovered the bars on her bedroom window and brought her to their house for the summer. Incredibly, Hermione herself had forgotten that terrified but brave girl.

She caught the shock of red hair out of the corner of her eye and called him over. “R-Ron! Can we talk?”

He stumbled to a halt and she wondered at her school girl crush she had in the previous two years, how it had presented itself even back at the Yule Ball. She grimaced slightly and felt a guilty rush of gratitude that those feelings had left her. Wherever they had gone, she hoped they stayed away. Some relationships were better as friends.

He sat on the tea table in front of her, mud sticking to the surface. _The houselves will likely have to clean that...and don’t they already have enough work to do?_ The sound of a throat clearing brought her back to her senses, leaving her once more cursing her distracted state.

“Right! Well, I wanted to talk about us. You know, clear everything up.” At the hopeful glint in his eyes, Hermione’s tongue stumbled to backtrack. “All of us, Harriet, too.”

His mood darkened suddenly. “I have nothing left to say to her until she apologizes.” He snarled. “She let herself be tainted, and its pathetic. How’s she supposed to be the Chosen One if she’s falling in love with the dark arts? How are WE supposed to be the heroes?”

Hermione did not have words for his sudden shift. “I...She..”

“Exactly.” He cut off her stuttering. For once, Ron’s anger was quiet.

]|[

Harriet sat at the Gryffindor table on Wednesday morning munching on small bites of breakfast and looking over the list of potions ingredients that Prince Sev had drilled at them yesterday evening. She and Luna had two days to learn about them and their uses, including the ingredients they reacted with negatively, before they would be tested on it.

They had been threatened if the results were unsatisfactory. The threat had been all the more effective for its vague endnote, and it hung over her, bending her head back to her journal at every free moment.

“Asphodel and daisy roots…” She murmured, trying to recall the effects the two would have when mixed together.

The morning post owls fluttered above her and she put it out of her mind, focused on her extra studies. Suddenly, she couldn’t ignore it. A pretty tawny owl landed before her with a thin scroll of paper on its leg. Suspiciously, she cast a wave of magic over it, only removing the letter when it came back untainted. The owl poked at her plate and flew off without a hoot. It unfurled in her palm rather demandingly and her eyes flashed wide as she read.

_My Dear Girl,_

_I have determined it is high time we begin our extra lessons in preparations of your duty._

_Please join me in my office for tea at 8 O’clock this evening._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_P.S. I do so enjoy Candyfloss_

Her hands shook at the address. And echoes of ‘girl’ swum in her head. Thinking that had been _her name_. Petunia’s bony nails on her arms, leaving scratches. Vernon with the belt. Dudley’s hunting. Then the wizarding world and their fucking title for her. All the empty platitudes the headmaster had sent her way with that twinkle and a _‘my dear girl’_. The small scroll burst into flame and in the great hall, every goblet not securely in hand tipped over in a clang of metal.

  
Harriet disregarded the littering of ash atop her plate, for she had lost her appetite anyway. With a passing thought of, _Fuck off Dumbledore,_ she returned to her query of Asphodel and daisy.


	10. Bloody Hell

Wednesday evening after dinner, all the pieces fell into place for Harriet. The day had gone reasonably well, and it would be a perfect one to relive. Luna even agreed with her.

Sure, there had been moments...but her second run through didn't have to be present for those minutes.

Her outburst in the Great Hall that morning had led to furious whispers, but as of yet, no one could technically pin the blame on her. Dumbledore seemed to have fallen back into his grandfatherly roll, waiting patiently for the self appointed tea time and had yet to seek Harriet out.

Malfoy, or as he had insisted she call him, Draco, acted in an entirely different route. He sought her out between every class, walking her to the next regardless of if they shared it or not. Going so far as to lean against the door to bar her entry until the last minute just to extend their conversations. He even smoothed a curl away from her face. A mirror of the action that day they sat in the forest.

It all felt bizarre. Not necessarily bad. It did give her a fuzzy feeling inside her chest, but sometimes she would glance over and imagine blue eyes instead of grey, brown hair rather than the pale blonde, and just a bit more well-deserved manipulative bastard in every smirk. Draco was being...polite. Unfortunately, she didn't want _polite._

She left for her dorm immediately after the feast, knowing that most students would remain there longer or have school work to rush through after. Harriet would have a whole extra evening for that. She took her time changing and shifting through the items in her extendable bag. Her favorite slip pulled over her head and the black velvet trimmed with lace warmed quickly on her skin. The black bamboo cover she had discovered at Madam Malkin's fluttered on her shoulders. It came to rest just above her knees, covering far more than the slip peeking beneath it, and the sleeves had to be pushed up to reveal her small fingers.

Said fingers began to rummage through her bag, as she sorted the mess she had created earlier that day in her haste to remove herself from Draco's presence. Straightening the rolls of parchment and homework notebooks, she tucked those into a side pocket. She verified the golden vials of time dust and Felix Felicius were folded in their handkerchief and hidden in a secret pocket. The Prince's potions textbook stood present with her notebook recording all of her notes on time. They together hugged the partnered communication journal from Prince Sev that had been so helpful. She shifted them slightly, jangling her withdrawal pouch from Gringotts. She considered removing it, but changed her mind easily. The sum may not be much in comparison to the amount piled away in her vaults, but she grew up without a pound to her name. Leaving money lying around went against the instincts beaten into her.

Harriet moved to the trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled the liquid fabric of her invisibility cloak from its confines. Its magic resonated with hers in the few moments before she set it beside her bag. She dug out her bag of basic ritual supplies. It included white chalk, towels, scentless candles, and a small silver dagger. She smiled to see the lapel pin holding the baby photograph she had been using as a bookmark during her father's fortnight pressed into the side of the pouch. Her golden knut glimmered near the bottom of the pouch, her head tilted once more at the color. _Odd._ This pouch too, Harriet placed inside her satchel. 

Lastly, she pulled from her trunk her leather wand holster. Pushing up the sleeve of her right forearm, she strapped her wand in, and resituated the fabric. When she finished, the slight bump on her arm could hardly be discerned.

With her bag readied on her hip and one final check that she had everything she might need for the evening, Harriet tossed the cloak over her shoulders and raised the hood. She always wondered how the four Marauders had managed to stay concealed within it, as the cloak seemed to be a perfect fit for her short frame. Though she technically fit around below average height, the cloak had to have revealed several inches on a teenage James Potter when he alone used it. Let alone when Tata and the others joined him. 

Several other students milled through the halls when she cracked the door, forcing her to wait for a break in the traffic. Half the student body out and about worked to her benefit as she stood next to the portrait hole, only several seconds of waiting were necessary before students on the other end gave the password. Hermione and Ginny walked by unaware of the witch to their left. For Harriet the moment passed by slowly. She felt a wave of sadness to see a lack of the malic that painted their every interaction with her since the conflict in the summer. However, she did not have the luxury to dwell long. The portrait started to swing shut behind the two and with a low grunt, Harriet kicked herself through in the last moment. 

She landed in a crouch, and mentally checked over herself to make sure her shoes were still completely covered. Curfew would not fall soon, but having people follow her now would be more of a nuisance than covering her tracks. It was stupid to let herself get sidetracked by her thoughts. Harriet had chosen her path. _Hermione has also chosen her own._ Sadness would do nothing for them now. Standing from her prone position, she began the trek to the dungeons.

The path down to the abandoned ritual room had carved its way into Harriet’s long term memory. Her knowledge of the castle’s passages and halls allowed her to take a different route than the one time she had physically visited the room, bypassing the great hall completely. The rough stone trailed beneath the fingers she brushed along the walls as she walked. Despite the many arguments of self involved students from the towers, Harriet found the dungeons soothing. They were dark, but much more spacious than Gryffindor’s cramped quarters. Her brief intrusion in second year had told her that much. They were often chilly, but any witch or wizard worth their salt would grab a blanket or perform a basic warming charm. She never did figure out where the talk of the rooms being wet or slimy had come from, though.

The door to the ritual room gave off an unimportant atmosphere and Harriet grinned. Her spells seemed to have held since her first visit. She reached through them carefully - Luna would have her location, so the spells should not hamper her ability to notice the door - and slipped through. 

Inside, dust nestled as thickly as she recalled. She unclasped her cloak and rolled it into her bag, then flexed her forearm just so. Following the movement of the muscles, her wand dropped from the interlaced straps of leather and slipped into the palm of her hand. She began to _scourgify_ the room of dust and other contaminants, working with meticulous care to use magic only outside the ritual circle. The cleaned scentless wax remains were left as she found them; however Harriet did have to use several brute force cutting hexes to remove a particular blob of pink wax that smelled of strawberry. She almost wanted to see the fool who had involved _that_ in a ritual.

When the perimeter of the room met her specifications, she dropped her bag by one wall and placed her black covering inside. Holstering her wand, she reached in and pulled out the white towels she had packed. They were thin, and would not do much for absorbency, but for rituals they were perfect. Wizards paid exorbitant prices for ritual towels, since the higher the quality, the less magic could be used to make them. The extra tight weave that made them so effective had to be strenuous to do by hand. Each ritual cloth of the highest quality cost nearly four galleons. Harriet had easily cheated the system. Muggles made better quality microfiber towels on a massive scale, they could never be accidentally tainted by magic, and they had sales. So Harriet would take a better quality item for an eighth of the price any day.

She worked her way through the entire ritual circle, cleaning each smooth stone and the grooves in between. Her scrub around the center of the room deposited her in nearly the same place she began. As she moved back to her belongings, she wrapped the now filthy towel in it’s partner and tucked them in an empty compartment in her school bag. Her special chalk created over the summer - ritual chalk paste mixed with the time dust from her vial - and her silver dagger were the next items she removed. The dagger immediately fitted snugly into the holster on her arm, and she began the outlines of the ritual circle.

She had studied and redrawn the image so many times that Harriet had confidence in the runes and details. The only trick now would be getting the proportions correct when drawing it on such a massive scale. The circle edge had originally been carved eight feet in diameter, making this room one of the smaller ritual rooms traditionally used. Harriet walked out a perfect crossing of lines through the direct center, marking with ticks outside the circle boundaries, and then set to work. 

Progress went slowly, for the potentially high drain of this ritual going wrong cautioned her into taking the proper time. Thankfully Luna wouldn’t be heading down for some while. The meaning of each line flowed through her mind twice over. An exchange with the beast Erat. A deal to travel back in time. The time of travel had not been specified in the runes she penned onto the floor. The author, Zerrin Selwyn dedicated a section on this ritual to that matter. The farther the travel length, the higher the cost of magic. To write in a time had left many to die when they could not magically pay the price. To leave it out gave a safety buffer for the user. The control of _when_ you arrived came from the control of the magic in the blood.

Quite some time later, Harriet took a step back and massaged her wrist. She evaluated every thick white stroke of writing, looking for errors, but also enjoying the sight of such a complex ritual. None of her previous works had been this intricate. Finding no errors, she set the chalk off to the side and pulled out the four candles, setting them up one in each corner of the room and lighting them with a pinch of her fingers.

_"Tempus."_ Green numbers shimmered where she had just rubbed her thumb along the inside of her left wrist, revealing the time. 10:46. “She should be here soon…” Harriet murmured to herself. They agreed to activate the ritual right at eleven. _Luna has the map, she will be here._

Knowing they would be pressed for time upon her arrival, Harriet decided to put her finishing touch on the ritual while she waited. She closed up her bag with the remainder of her belongings and pulled it over her head to rest on her shoulder, freeing her hands.

The ritual’s design called for an inner solid line directly inside the circle’s boundaries and then a three inch gap before the runes began. Now, Harriet, clad in only her inky black slip with her hair tied back, stood with her left arm over the gap. She pulled the dagger from its holster and quickly drew the blade along her left palm, wincing as blood welled past the skin. Turning her hand, she allowed the drops to drip evenly as she slowly walked the entire ring. When it overlapped, she switched her dagger for her wand and healed the wound. Leaving the dagger in her shealth for Luna to use, she stepped into the circle and felt it begin to tug at her magic.

Sounds seemed to echo from far away, rhythmic and then a deeper sound would break up that rhythm. _Are the Hufflepuffs partying?_ They steadily increased until Harriet’s instincts recognized them before her brain. Her heart took off, abandoning the steady pace it had enjoyed and she recalled the sounds of running through the ministry. The rhythmic pounding of feet when the only thought consisted of _‘_ _GO'_ and the crash of leathally powered spells when they hit anything but the human body. 

_Not Luna. Not my sister._

Harriet’s magic flared, flowing with her emotions, but instead of flowing outwards towards the door like she expected, it flowed down, sinking into the blood surrounding her. “Damn this! Not now!” Surging forward from the center of the circle she moved towards the door. She did not make it past the blood line, where she collided with what felt like a barrier of her own magic. Frustration coursed through her and Harriet crouched, pressing her palms into the circle. _If magic is what it wants, so be it._ Her green eyes glowed as visible magic pumped from her fingers to the blood in her attempt to overpower the circle into breaking and releasing her. The magic whirled around her, ripping her hair from it’s confines. Magical energy added to its already substantial volume and mess, increasing the visible insanity in her appearance.

The fighting had ventured close enough to hear. Male shouts of _“_ _ _bombarda”, "_ confringo_ _,"_ and even a _“_ _crucio"_ echoed down her hall. _It can only be at Luna._ Harriet thought in anger. The circle showed no signs of weakening, so she reached deeper and pulled from her magical reserves as she screamed and her eyes flashed a spellbound green.

“LUNA!”

]|[

Luna flitted about her four poster bed in Ravenclaw’s tower and hurriedly fixed her hair. She planned to be downstairs some time ago, but had been caught up in more practical repetitions of her new expansive area divination spell. Harriet had probably started more than just the prep work without her.

She tapped the unfolded parchment on her bed. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." As black lines inked into existence, she turned the pages immediately to the dungeons. She found the lone banner marked with Harriet’s name quickly, and checked the clock. 10:32. Still late. But she would have plenty of time if she ran. Donning silver shorts and a purple sweater, Luna grabbed the bag that she had stowed just for tonight. She erased the map, adding it and all her notebooks to her ever extendable bag. She removed all of her textbooks, keeping essentials, her wand and gringotts pouch, and things she knew she would not want to part with. Her father's letters had their own hidden pocket, and she smiled at how fortuitous it proved to be that he never remembered to pen the date.

Taking one final look at the bed of blue and bronze, Luna draped her tie on the light sconce by her dresser and left the room undisturbed. No one stopped her on her way out or much looked up as she passed. Nor did Luna feel a particular ache as the door to the dormitory closed on her heels. They had not inspired hate, and they associated well enough. But there could be more, and Harriet had proven so.

She made it to the great hall before needing the map once more. Fetching it and her wand, she quickly counted the number of doors before the room where Harriet waited. She mentioned having concealed the door, and Harriet always did manage to downplay the strength of her wards.

She bent to the floor, shoveling the map back in her bag. A white jet of light flew over her head and landed with a crack on the stones in front of her, leaving a dark smear. Whirling, wand in hand, Luna instinctively raised a shield charm to defend herself. On the landing above her, Ron Weasley stood snarling with his wand raised.

"So, it's true! Harriet did sneak out to see you! _Petrificus Totalus!"_ The immobility charm splattered against her shield without leaving a crack and incited further fury in the redhead. She abandoned her shield and darted through the passage that would lead her to Harriet. 

Exploding charms and blasting curses ricocheted on her heels. She used every trick Harriet had taught her, move in any single direction for no more than three seconds, switch directions, move unpredictably. Luna could not afford to waste a great deal of magic, so she focused on dodging. 

She had one more door to go when the redhead’s _crucio_ hit her in the ankle. Pain shot up her leg, but she forced herself to turn her wand back and whisper through gritted teeth. _“Expecto Patronum."_ The hare darted forward, corporeal enough to jump forcibly from Ron’s chest. The silver being disrupting his eye contact, sending him staggering back, and ending the unforgivable’s hold. The hare leapt through the passage and into the entry hall, intent on delivering its message.

Down the opposite hall, a room seemed to pulse, and Harriet’s desperate shriek had Luna up and on her feet again. The warding on the door had disintegrated from trying to hold in so much power. The physical door gave with little effort and she raced inside. Harriet crouched in the center of a tsunami of magic, contained within the boundaries of the ritual circle. Said magic funneled from the witch to the environment and into the blood glowing neon red around her. Luna stepped up to the edge of the circle before the utterance of a knife whip curse made her turn. Ron loomed in the doorway. From his wand a long whip made of razor sharp sections of metal gleamed. With feral determination in his face, he raised his arm and threw his wrist down.

Vaguely, Luna heard Harriet protest from behind her, and felt the magic adjust enough to cocoon her. Yet, even her sister with all her strength could not fully stop his act. Pain lanced through her, as the whip landed on her chest, wrapping over her shoulder, and digging into her upper back. The whip disappeared, curse completed, but a thin spray of blood spurted from the wound dropping onto the ritual circle where Harriet had pulled her. Ron advanced once more, and Luna felt her chest in a daze. It should have hurt more. There should be more blood.

Harriet. Her lavender eyes moved sharply to her sister and she saw the answer then. Harriet couldn’t stop it, but she could lessen it, she had lessened it. Determination and hatred burned in those green eyes, and Luna knew she had been right to send her message when she could. She saw the moment Harriet decided, and the moment Ron Weasley pushed one final time. Her beautiful, bloodthirsty sister ended it in one smooth word.

“Erat.”

The magic contained within the circle cradled the two witches while it exploded outward. Ron Weasley slammed into the stone wall behind him, the force of the magic not allowing his feet to touch the ground. Power continued to press in sharp waves until the force became too much for his body. His skeleton fell apart at the joints, muscles torn by magic, first fingers, then feet, a chop at the knee, and an arm. Slashes at his torso were the last cries before Ronald Weasley’s eyes went blank.

In the midst of the overpowered ritual, the two witches heard none of the chaos around them, but they could see everything. They saw the stones cracking and exploding, and they witnessed the light leave the boy’s eyes. Luna felt Harriet’s grasp on her sag, and had only enough time to turn and take in her exhausted state before they winked out of time.

]|[

Severus blinked blearily at the bright light that had bounded through his office door and perched on his desk. It hopped once forward, landing on the essays he had paused in grading. He regarded it out of the corner of his eye, waiting for it to speak as he attempted to pull the top essay from it’s unusual bulk. Pulling once more with added frustration only managed to tear the essay in half. He glared directly at the unspeaking hare patronus and suddenly lost his ability to breathe. The moment he met its silver eyes, he felt a tug on his mind. Instead of attempting to access his mind’s memories, the hare inserted one of its own. 

He saw the youngest Weasley boy _hunting_ the fair haired Ravenclaw, he witnessed the pursuit through the dungeon tunnels, and felt the pain of the cruciatus curse. As Luna cast the patronus inside the memory, her voice rang clearly, though her lips did not form the words. 

“A student will die tonight.”

The memory ended, but did not fade away. It implanted itself into Severus’s own and the hare in front of him dissipated. Concern struck through him for the two he had taken under his wing. For surely if Luna were involved, Harriet wasn’t standing far away. He sent messages off to Flitwick, Pomphrey, Poppy, and Minerva, giving them urgent directions on where to meet him. Employing a skill he had neglected to use since his active death eater days, Severus jumped over the railing just outside the door of his new office. Flying without a broom took enormous concentration, yet his focus on his apprentices drove him as his descent wove between moving staircases and he dropped towards the entrance hall.

A lone shield charm stood erect at the base of the main staircase, but he moved passed in a flurry and dove into the passageway. A scream echoed down the hall, followed by a protective outcry. Another two seconds bought Severus another ten feet and he could see the ajar door. Then the still abruptly shifted and everything exploded. Within the room magic seemed to implode and then lash out. A shockwave of vibration moved out from the room, raising the hairs on his body and proceeding to wake every living thing in the castle, within the forest, even in the depths of the black lake.

Severus dove for cover, knowing that otherwise, he would be pulled apart. He only hoped those in the room would do the same. The lashing died down after half a minute, but heady power continued to pulse through the air. Power of this level and concentration could only be Harriet Potter. _That little brat-_ His worry consumed him too much to even contemplate finishing the threat. He knew she lived. Otherwise he would not be alive himself, but her condition...

Pushing aside the remains of the door, the sight that greeted his eyes reminded him far too much of his early Death Eater days. The blurred chalk remains of a ritual had been blown apart and lay fragmented around the room. Blood droplets painted every surface except the far wall. The most sickening part had to be attributed to the chunks of flesh, both identifiable, and unidentifiable that sparsely decorated the remainder of the room, but were held in greater volume near the desecrated body of Ronald Weasley. Not even the best healers would be of use to the boy. The damage had devastated, and the soul would never return.

Severus exited quickly, unused to that degree of wreckage on a child’s form. The four he had sent for found him leaning outside the room, hand over his mouth to hold the sickness at bay. Minerva, ever the Deputy Headmistress nodded at his quasi guard post and entered the room.

Argus Filch trotted up the passage, his faithful cat upon his heels. “Students out of bed! Students roaming the halls!”

Severus, finally having contained himself enough, snapped at the infuriatingly obtuse old man. “A student is DEAD. Two more have gone missing.” He felt ill at the violence, that wasn’t under question, but what pushed him into losing composure had been the overwhelming feeling that the two that were missing were also gone for good.

Minerva stumbled out of the room, her face green and her hand over her heart. “Two more?! Severus!”

She called after him, but her words fell on deaf ears. He had already set off. He recalled the shield standing alone in the entrance hall. In the memory, Luna defended herself with that same wave of magic. If it still stood, perhaps they could trace her.

The floor of the entrance hall remained bare, though not for a lack of trying on the part of the student body. Professors were barring students' entry, blocking access with magic at the tunnels and stair landing. Severus skirted the damaged floor, hearing Minerva’s sharp steps in close pursuit. He circled the empty air where he knew the glimmering shield had stood, murmuring to himself.

“-rus, Severus!” Her hand on his bicep yanked him from his thoughts.

He doubled back on her, gripping her shoulders harshly. “Who tore it down?”

Unease crossed her face from panic coloring his words. She scowled but did not dislodge his fingers as they dug in further. “It disappeared as we entered the hall, seconds after the explosion. No one removed it, it simply faded away.”

The hold he had on her gave way, and the strength within him collapsed. The feeling rang true. _A student will die tonight._ Singular. They had not perished in that ritual, but he could not deny what he now knew. The child of his vow and her sister were no longer with them.

]|[

Magic battered at the confines of the bubble that protected the witches. Swirling cascades of red and green moved everything else around them. Luna clung to Harriet, whispering anything that would keep her awake.

The magic parted in a direction, curtaining over them and exposing them to firelight once more. Torches and the windows around seemed to indicate a similar time as to when they had left. Luna had to confirm.

_“Tempus Major.”_ The date and time swum before her, and she only had time for a quick breath as she took in her surroundings. They appeared to have been placed gently on the center flagstones of a fourth floor hallway. Two boys stood staring in shock, likely having no explanation for the wards of Hogwarts distorting for a bloody witch and her half dead counterpart.

Luna had nothing prepared in her head for a cover story, and the badges on the chests in front of her did not suggest that a dreamy look would sway a prefect and the head boy. She almost had prepared an idea before Harriet spoke in her arms. 

“I...killed him.” Her low voice did not hold any overpowering emotion.

“You didn’t mean to.” Luna, focused on the incoming situation that Harriet wasn’t grasping, needed her sister to _stop talking_. 

“I did. He would have killed you, Luna.” She gasped, suddenly, choking out one more sentence. “Never...gonna happen...to my sister.”

“You there!” An aristocratic voice barked from the blond, and she remembered him suddenly from her vision earlier in the summer. Luna shifted Harriet’s weight from her lap to rest on her bag, grasped her wand, and moved without hesitation.

As the boys took a step to advance, she rose to her full, short height. She flicked her wand from pointing directly at the pair to over her shoulder in a sweeping move. A purple barrier of magic burst forward arching over her head and touching down on both sides of the hall. It extended itself horizontally, seamlessly molding to the wall and winding around the railing on the opposite side. With time bought, and a rueful laugh, Luna turned her attention back to her sister. Her black hair splayed upon the floor and blocked the view of her face, which grew more pale as she fitfully stayed awake. 

Luna pulled the dagger from her sister’s sheath and those glassy green eyes met hers. “I need you to stay with me now, don’t try to sit up.” 

She vaguely nodded in response.

Luna pulled the dagger over her left palm and then Harriet’s. Hating to take anything more from the other, she forced the brunt of the magic upon her own shoulders. 

She pointed her wand at their clasped hands and murmured quickly and quietly so as to not be overheard. Most of her words would not have been understandable to any who had not extensively studied in the Black Library, but six words were made clear. Blood flowed fluidly between their systems, merging and giving the black haired girl a modicum of strength back. In Luna’s quiet voice there resounded power. 

“Luna Lyra Selwyn. Zerrin Isla Selwyn.”

A purple flash of light emitted within their clasped hands, followed by one of brilliant green. Luna healed the injuries to their palms, tucked the knife back into the sheath, and moved to stand. 

She stumbled several steps, woosy from the power drain and off balance from the soot beneath her feet. Feeling herself fading fast she pulled the magic of her barrier back inside her core. A rush of strength snapped into her, and she stopped herself from falling, but something niggled in her brain. Her sister. That word felt more right than ever. _Har-_ Her brain crashed to a halt and refused to continue. That wasn’t right anymore.

Her eyes moved to her sister’s form on the floor and the right name appeared on her tongue. “Zerrin.” Relief filled her, and then worry swamped over. _Where is your green, Zerrin?_ Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. Luna dove to her side, moving the hair from her face.

The two boys skid to a halt before her and Luna looked straight into the silver eyes of the blonde head boy.

“A hospital would be lovely right now.”


	11. Tom

Tom stared at the girl in the hospital bed and tried to organize his thoughts. She had his best cloak draped around her shoulders and he loathed to leave without it. _What possessed me?_ He thought harshly. Offering another his belongings had never even occurred to him. He would not lie to himself, however, he also desired information. Nothing in his studies, be they the permitted or the forbidden, could explain what occurred in that hall.

The night sky visible through the floor to ceiling windows did not cast any light onto the two forms in the hospital beds. The sterile atmosphere echoed in his ears. This wing of the castle felt so much quieter than that other corridor. He relaxed his poised position in the chair, listening to the quiet murmur from the next bedside over as Abraxas Malfoy used his political charms on the night nurse. 

“If you would but wake one of them, for just a moment, so we can ascertain their names…”

Tom’s focus on the witch in front of him intensified as she twitched fitfully, and the evening played behind his eyes again…

~~~

He and Abraxas had just started a route for rounds. Being only a week into the new school year, the first forty-five minutes were spent jinxing liplocked students out of crevices and remembering that some first years may grow to show promise, so there would be no benefit in torturing them in return for their homesick wailing. The minutes finally ticked on until the halls were empty and the best hours could begin. With the students in bed and very few willing to defy them, they debated magical theory or the political leanings of individuals in positions within the ministry.

If Tom had a preferred debate partner, Abraxas would fit the bill nicely. In the moments between responses, where hesitancy turned to resolve in the head boy's silver eyes, Tom saw great promise. Abraxas had been mid sentence in a detailed counterargument describing exactly why he believed Tom replacing potion recipe ink for ink from the giant squid would be far more disastrous than interesting, when the very air in the path in front of them vibrated audibly. His voice abruptly changed course, and together they drew their wands.

The space in front of them appeared to fracture and for a second, the scene held nothing more than a mirage. The fissure lengthened vertically, the bottom barely above the stone of the hallway. A magical wind shoved its way through the gap, resistant to being confined any further and splitting the divide wide open. The air vibrated with power as a current swept through the hall. Reds and greens colored the escaping gusts and the cloying scent of rust clung to the magic. The fissure moved around a point in space, opening as a pair of curtains and revealed the most bizarre sight for a public area.

Two half naked girls were held in a sphere of protective magic. One had very long white blond hair. She wore a sweater and if she wore anything else, the Slytherin wizards could not see it. Large tears in the fabric revealed corresponding gashes in her flesh, and she looked as though she had faced spinning blades. Tom's eyes were drawn to the body cradled in her lap, for at that moment, it gave no signs of life. She appeared to be a younger witch, with ink black hair that whipped wildly in the wind around them. She wore the smallest black dress Tom had ever seen, the fabric barely covered her chest and dipped low to her mid back, extending only the barest length onto pale legs. 

Abraxas grabbed his arm. His eyes portrayed a look of confusion directed at Tom rather than the _massive power surge_ in front of them. Tom slipped his mask over his features, shoving whatever _those thoughts_ of the dark haired girl had been to the side for another time. Calculating his next move, he gripped his wand and focused on identifying the threat level of the magic around them. _No harm so far. No telling if that is to continue._

He braced himself as a sudden surge rippled through the winds, and the magic gap closed behind the feminine figures as though it had never existed. The magic began to disperse, dropping them slowly to the ground and the shock of the movement set something off in the black haired figure. She animated, grasping the blonde and speaking quickly to her. With the buffeting magic abated, Tom signalled for himself and Abraxas to prowl forward. The blonde locked her eyes on their movements. A sharp gasp came from the black clad figure, and Tom heard one sentence in a hoarse voice. 

“He would have killed you, Luna.” 

Purple eyes shot down to the girl cradled in her arms, then back up to their approach. A flash of unease shot through them. Tom was too focused on anticipating the next action that he missed the next mumbled words. Tom stepped closer. Ten more feet and he would be within physical distance, he could do so much with ten feet or less. 

Beside him, ever the head boy, Abraxas shouted. “You there!”

Derision rolled through Tom. _What is that supposed to accomplish?_ Abraxas would have some new training drills when all this finished.

It did signal significant movement in the only figure who had remained still throughout the whole event. The blonde set down her companion and lifted her wand to face them. With preparation in mind for an attack, neither the prefect nor the head boy had actions to stop her own. She proceeded to raise an intensely powerful barrier, one impervious to anything they attempted to throw at it. Dark and light spells each had very little effect, the swirling purple barrier simply merged the superficial flaws back together. 

Within the semi-transparent barrier, the Slytherins witnessed the blonde cut a gash into both witches' palms and lift her wand. Whatever spell or ritual she spoke, they could hear nothing of it, but they did see as both began to shake from the effort. The black haired girl’s eyes opened widely, and Tom swore they glowed a luminescent green.

Two flashes of light burst within the barrier, one amplifying the purple coloring, and the other flaring green and creating splotches of brown through the purple wall. Seconds after the second burst, the barrier imploded, turning back to energy and absorbed into the blonde.

Tom raced forward with his own blond on his heels. He arrived by the witches just in time to see a sliver of the brightest green eyes before they closed. _I’ll see those again._ The thought jolted through his brain. The other wavered, her eyes glassy as if she was barely holding on but her words were sure.

“A hospital would be lovely right now.” Then, she slumped forward, her arms weakly outstretched to catch herself. Abraxas beat the floor to catching her, and by the time he moved the hair from her eyes the girl had eased into unconsciousness. 

Tom moved on instinct, unclasping the cloak from around his shoulders and lifting the small frame of the dark haired girl. His fingers brushed curiously along the long healed white scars that detailed her skin, but he did not have the luxury of dwelling on the puzzle they presented. He pulled the green and black cloak around her shoulders, shielding her exposed skin from any further prying eyes. _Including Malfoy_. The sudden venom in his thoughts made him pause, but he really didn’t have time to process that, too. He swung the surprisingly heavy side bag the girl had rested on over his head and hoisted her into his arms. _She is tiny. How young is this witch?_

“My lord.” Tom turned, if Abraxas sought guidance at that level now, it may be of noteworthy concern. “Do you believe what we saw could have been apparition through the ancient wards?” He stood in a similar position with the other female in his arms.

The temptation to run his fingers through his brown hair nagged at him and the hand gripping the pale thigh tightened infinitesimally to fight the compulsion. He nearly hissed in frustration when he spoke. “Fuck. Abraxas, It’s a likely theory.”

~~~

“Tom… Tom. Tom!” 

He jolted and in only a moment his white wand pressed firmly to the wrist of the hand that had disturbed him. It froze, marble under his movements while the voice registered from above.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Abraxas spoke. “You were unresponsive.”

Tom pulled his wand back from the lack of threat and the hand on his person abruptly removed itself. “How did the night nurse reply? Will they allow us to wake one of them?”

“She claims they cannot be woken until they do so naturally, that their bodies have been put under ‘undue stress’. She left to inform the Madam and headmaster and asked us to wait here.”

Tom did not care about the matter with Headmaster Dippit, he had higher priorities. He gestured to the girl _still wearing his cloak_ in the bed before him. “This one performed no feats of extraordinary magic,” _So why am I so interested?_ “Wake her, I will speak with her and get the information we require.”

Behind him, an exhausted Abraxas rubbed his eyes at the suddenly obtuse prefect. He snatched the clipboard from the tray at the bottom of the bed and held it in the alarmingly focused eyeline of Tom Riddle. 

“My sister would be able to give you more information, my lord, but her magic levels are coming back as drained beyond what any other than an auror should be capable of surviving. She barely has enough magic running through her veins to keep her heart pumping. I’d wager this Luna girl will wake sooner.” 

Tom flicked his gaze over the documents and the bed in front of him to glance at the second occupied pillow. For the second time that night, he broke his rule regarding language decorum in public and with his gaze on the blonde female, he missed the raven haired witch’s dreamy smile that coincided with his utterance.

“Fuck.”

]|[

The overwhelming lack of any other color did not flare into her eyes with brightness. Instead, the landscape shifted dreamily with shapes coalescing into a hilltop with more clarity. Trees, leaves, even the grass that formed under her toes were all white.

It played a funny game with her sense of depth perception, if she turned too quickly, everything went blurry. Moments passed before the fog could clear in her brain and the view reformed around her. Voices faded in from her world and she missed all the colors. A smooth deep voice spoke and she didn’t hear the words, but managed to lose herself in the sound. The voice stopped, and the witch pouted, until it spoke a single word. ‘Fuck.’

Her brilliant smile stretched her lips. _The voice knows my favorite word!_

She listened intently, but any voices grew fainter and the voice she wanted to hear did not speak again. The word echoed around in her head, and she knew she had to hear that voice say her favorite word again. She would make it happen.

More time passed, but how much could not be measured, and the witch did not care. She looked at the trees and inspected the meadow, and thought it a nice place to visit. Yet, not a place she wanted to stay forever.

Figures prowled from the distance, two large and one half their size. As they approached, they gleamed. Their metallic coats shone particularly in contrast with their obsolete background. The middle figure broke from the formation. It advanced from a fleck on the horizon until it barrelled mere paces before her yet, she did not fear it. She couldn’t be hurt here. It dove in front of her, and to see the beast up close took her breath away. Midnight black fur, even darker than her own hair covered every inch of the body. It turned its massive head, flexing and rested the weight of it on the witch’s lap. She didn’t dare to breath as a massive panther lay prone in front of her, on her; as if this were where it belonged. Black eyelids closed over wide golden eyes, and it seemed to sleep. 

Silver and gold split the white backdrop and overwhelmed it, reflecting light on glistening furs with such presence that the witch could do nothing but lift her eyes to their approach. The smaller figure stepped directly onto the panther, using its body as a footstool. The silver Maine Coon primly walked on the spine before settling between the shoulderblades. Golden eyes peered from this beast as well, and the witch heard a voice resounding about the clearing, rich and motherly. 

“We’ve waited long for you, young one.”

The witch opened her mouth to respond but did not know how to answer. _Waited? I wasn’t even planning to visit wherever this place is._ The lion moved then, wrapping himself behind the witch and settling with his head beneath her right hand. His fur shimmered gold and she recalled a memory of warmth and waking up covered in dust that seemed just like his fur.

“Remember your studies, Zerrin.” His royal voice brokered no argument and she took a moment.

“Erat.” She whispered and he nuzzled her hand. “Sum,” the black panther’s eyes blinked open and her tongue lolled out. “Autem,” the silver coon nodded deeply. “Don’t be mad, but I thought we would never actually meet.”

The three all laughed, and it amused the witch to hear the deep chuckle of the lion, the chortling bubble of the panther, and the pealing bell of the coon. Autem spoke again, “We know what is to come, yet experiencing it for the first time with you is a joy, Zerrin.”

There was that name again. It felt correct, but she had never used it before. “That’s not my name. My name is Har-” Her voice went soundless and a prodding in her brain pushed her to correct herself, to say that she had been mistaken and ‘Yes, call me Zerrin.’ 

Sum crooned to her from her lap, “Don’t fight it, give in and we can explain some.”

She released a large breath and spoke at the same time, “Zerrin.” A zing of agreement traveled through her blood and she shivered the feeling away. 

Erat bumped her hand, gaining her attention, and her fingers ran through his mane to soothe herself. "You pushed yourself harder in my ritual than you intended, but exactly as far as you were meant to go."

"Time is finicky." Sum's higher voice continued, "You could not live with your old name there."

Autem finished their chosen explanation, "This is the name we have always known you by. For you have always been our golden human."

]|[

Neither girl woke that first night. The first five hours after being dismissed were spent staring at the ceiling of his dorm bedroom, listening to the quiet breathing of his roommate and attempting to solve the problem presented to him. An unknown pair, with an unheard of arrival, and unspoken origins.

Headmaster Dippit, Madam Orlet, and the few professors that had been immediately filled in on the situation wanted answers. Abraxas looked to Tom for them as well, but Tom did not want to share the full story. He wanted to unravel the mystery. If he told the professors, he would be commended. _True._ Moreover, he would be instructed to walk away from the situation. _And that is not acceptable._

So he, and Abraxas following suit, had informed the gathered authorities that they had discovered the girls collapsed in one of the hallways. Upon seeing their state, the Slytherins had rushed them to the hospital wing and they knew nothing more about the two. Any questions from there had been simple to answer truthfully. They did not see any attackers, the witches were not students they recognized, and they had not regained consciousness.

Tom intended to be present when the latter happened. When the sun began to lighten the water in the window of their dormitory, he stood and dressed for the day. Thankfully, it happened to be Saturday, so he would not need to work between classes to achieve his goals. He pulled his bag over his head and his dorm mate’s wand began to blare the same terrible screeching noise as every other morning. After a night without sleep, Tom’s head ached to hear that particular octave. 

“Orion! Wake up!” He punctuated each word with a stinging hex into the approximate spleen location of the blanket pile. With a shout the body underneath jolted off the bed, fumbling for it’s wand and quickly ending the screeching. _Blessed silence._ “If you intended to fall back asleep, perhaps consider changing that alarm. And after, remember why you set it so early in the first place.”

Orion Black’s shaggy head raised from below the bed edge and stared at him as though intelligent thought had never traversed the expanse of his skull. Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. _No torture. He is actually very useful when he is awake…_

“Far be it for me to remind you. If you recall, I laughed when you asked a fourth year Gryffindor of all options to go out with you at _sunrise…_ ” Tom trailed off in amusement as shock leapt into the other's eyes and a quick _tempus_ told him he had only minutes before the meet up. Watching Orion’s poorly planned dating life crash simply came as a perk of living with the boy.

“Fucking Morgana!” Orion raced to his closet and Tom waved over his shoulder idly as he left.

The halls inside Slytherin were still deeply asleep, and he doubted many others would be waking. Even among the ambitious, Saturday lie-ins were coveted. He made it to the common room before he ran into further company. Abraxas and his sister Edona leaned beside the exit to the common room and they made a striking pair standing side by side. His long white blond hair and broad frame contrasted sharply with her. In everything but coloring, the two siblings' appearances varied distinctly. Abraxas towered over Edona even when making his best effort to not, but his extreme height advantage on his fourth year sister left little option. She religiously styled her white blond pixie length hair into large curls on her head, gelling the tips to give the appearance of licking flames. As intense people went, Tom found her tolerable. She had skills that promised results few others could achieve. Her mint green hospital apprentice robes spoke for that. 

“Edona, will you just keep me informed? I am not asking for you to break any oaths.” Abraxas asked.

“It’s not like I know anything right now. Nor will I, if I cannot actually _leave_ to go to the hospital wing.” Edona glared at her older brother, yet made no move for the unblocked exit. 

Tom chose that moment to interrupt, and the difference in their facial features struck him once more as they turned on him. “Allow me to escort you.” He offered her his arm in the typical pureblood fashion, and waited for a moment to see if she would accept. Edona had commonly switched between appreciating and spurning any chivalry offered to her. However, whether Tom’s reputation had an influence or a soft spot with her, he often found himself lucky in that regard.

She seemed to be in an overall pleasant mood, proceeding to skip to his side and link their arms. Abraxas gave Tom a respectful nod, then sent a look of deep exasperation to his sister, but fell into pace at his leader’s right hand. Tom led the small group up the deserted morning staircases, only speaking from the beginning to enquire at Edona’s weekend plans. It benefited him to know where reliable eyes were, and after one question, she handled control of the conversation.

She chattered away as they walked, and though he tuned most of it out, Tom appreciated that what he did hear was not meaningless. Abraxas filled in the needed response in communication and Tom continued to calculate. When they arrived at the large doors, Edona unhooked her arm from his and gave them a small wave, before walking forward. To every step she took, the males behind her synchronized a step behind, until several paces into the wing, she whirled on them.

“I thought this was a polite walk to work.” She scrutinized them and her lips pursed as Tom did not falter in his step and moved around her.

“Perhaps that is Abraxas’ purpose, you should really inquire that of him.” He moved in between the two occupied beds further down and situated himself a chair next to the girl _still_ wrapped in his cloak with his back against the wall. Checking to see that he would have an unobstructed view of both unconscious witches, he removed his bag and began to unpack the necessary study materials.

“I am simply performing my duties as head boy.” Abraxas addressed his sister. “After all, we did find these two, checking up on them is completely understandable.” He braced his hands on the iron frame at the foot of the same bed. His leaning position and the set of his squared jaw suggested he did not intend to move for some time. 

She turned on Tom once more, “This is not the library.” 

“Am I not allowed to multitask in my concern? I find our professors may disagree with you.”

Edona threw one of her hands up and to the side in flippant surrender and moved on to prep for Madam Orlet’s arrival. Her antics brought a miniscule smirk to Tom’s lips and caused Abraxas to drop his head in frustration. Any other female would be cursed for daring those sort of antics with the Slytherin prefect. 

Tom intended to stay there for some time, as being present when they awakened would take considerable effort. He did not have the luxury of idleness amidst his wait, even if this was too public an environment for his more sensitive research projects. Glancing between the two girls, his stare lingered on the one closest to him. With her face lax and no longer scrunched up from pain, she did seem young. Her height gave her the distinct appearance of a third year at most, but her body, even hidden beneath sheets, could not be mistaken for that of a child this close. Tom had certainly his share of encounters with witches while at Hogwarts, and had even a few male encounters. He knew what forms the human body took once maturity had set in. Perhaps he had initially miscalculated. _This girl...This woman...is oddly tiny_.

The thoughts he had not allowed himself to focus on during the chaos of the witches’ arrival came rushing back to him. His strange focus on her that he had been unable to shake did not fall within his accustomed parameters. _Even now, my eyes are drawn to her if she is in the room, my thoughts if she is not._ She remained the anomaly. That must be the extent of the fixation. But the fixation had him noticing details beyond the puzzle their presence presented. Details that were he to notice on any other human, would become trivial. Like pale skin, and long smooth legs. Scars that his cloak now shielded, but that obviously occurred over the course of many years. The curves that he had first seen and then later felt as he shielded her body from all other eyes and carried her away.

Edona moved in front of him, comparing each patient's paperwork with their current physical state. He checked the clock and stared for a moment, calculating the time passage in his head. The answer jarred in his brain.

"Yes, you've been staring at her for over an hour." Edona murmured to him, eyes clearly on the parchment she notated. "You seem awfully attached for having no clue who she is. Just saying, we've both noticed."

Abraxas huffed from where he now sat at the next bedside, at first appearance asleep. "Edona, leave me out of your chiding. It never ends well." 

The sound of a door opening at the back end of the wing alerted them to company and conversation died. Tom angled his body away from the black haired witch and glued his eyes to the page of his book.

The approaching Madam Orlet spread an intimidating atmosphere not through her appearance, but rather her personality. She stood tall, and on the thinner side, with bushy brown hair that she refused to tie up in the healer’s cap no matter how many people argued decorum to her. Her personality seemed to leak into every aspect of her job, and her talkative nature simply existed. Yet, crossing her and her patients had been a mistake an individual only made once. Even professors ranked higher than her in staffing rarely came to her barking orders unless someone teetered on the verge of death. Unlike many other talkative professors, she held a quiet respect in her tone. She never used platitive remarks like child or boy, instead almost obstinately referring to those around her by their full names. 

As she approached, Tom continued his appearance of study, planning to give her no reasons to evict him from the wing. His presence earlier than hers could be taken as suspicious enough. Therefore, he released a sigh of relief when Edona began a morning report instead. Tom stared down at his text book, not seeing the words. He didn’t even remember having inked his quill, he scratched a small line on his notebook and true to form, no writing appeared. His head had been _fine_ before these two showed up.

“Genealogy, Tom Riddle?” Soft hands settling on his shoulders stopped him from flinching from his seat, but his neck still clicked as he turned too quickly to look at her.

“Madam Orlet. Yes, it's a history project. Advanced assignment.” Tom did his best to not appear flustered, but to this day he felt unaccustomed to others touching him without invitation. The Madam at least did not wish any ill will. She had healed him often enough as a younger student for him to be aware of that.

She moved to the blonde’s bedside and kicked Abraxas’ long legs out of her path as she continued. “Does the assignment include learning to read the book upside down?”

He grit his teeth. _Fucking witches that appear from nowhere._ Frustrated hands turned the book as he managed to keep his tone even to respond. “No, that is not a factor of the project.”

“More’s the pity.” Orlet had switched now to the witch in his cloak, and he could see the scrolls stacking at the foot of the bed from the diagnostic tests she began. He itched at the idea of what information they contained. 

“Will you be switching them out of these clothes soon?” Maybe if the woman no longer wore his cloak, he could put her out of his mind like the other.

“No. I am not in the habit of undressing unconscious witches. Nor do I see any other clothes for them. The cleansing and refreshing charms will have to do until they awaken and can do so for themselves or request assistance.” 

Edona appeared at the madam’s elbow as she finished her murmured response and offered a tray of potions to her. Orlet plucked two, a green and a grey, leaving duplicates of those along with a blood replenisher and a bottle of dittany on the tray.

“Edona, administer the blood replenisher and begin applying dittany. Leave the other vials aside for now, that will be your lesson in a moment. Pull up a privacy curtain as well.” Madam Orlet paused in her diagnostic spells and looked over at the head boy’s once again dozing form. “Abraxas Malfoy!”

The blond jolted awake and Edona snorted as he bashed the base of his skull against the backrest of the chair. “Very graceful, brother,” his sister muttered beneath her breath.

“Please remove yourself from the bedside of the patient, Mr. Malfoy. Your presence and her modesty will not coexist well for the next hour.” Abraxas stood, rubbing his neck, but not objecting to the madam. He marched behind Tom’s chair and leaned on the window sill there, in much more of his regular sentry position than he probably intended to display.

Edona stole his spot at the far witch’s bedside, and soon both blonde witches were covered with a thick white privacy curtain. With a notice-me-not woven into the fabric, trying to focus on the area for too long brought fuzziness to Tom’s mind.

“I’m actually grateful you both decided to invest in my morning.” Madam Orlet faced them directly. She had conjured a board on the other side of the patient’s bed and the diagnostic scrolls stuck to it. “Remind me, in detail this time, what was this witch’s state when you found her?”

“Nonresponsive.” Tom stated curtly.

“Unconscious.” Abraxas spoke at nearly the same moment.

She laughed deeply, throwing her head back, “You overwhelm me with the details! Why don’t you try again?”

Tom sighed, closing the book he would not be studying and began once more. “She was held in the other’s arms, I might have seen a sliver of green from her eyes, but I think it had been a trick of the light. She did nothing, said nothing.” Except that mention of attempted murder. “Do we even know that she is a witch?”

Orlet tapped her chin for a moment. “Hm...We do in fact.” She passed a speculative glance at the males on her left before waving her wand in a complicated motion above the sleeping woman’s chest. As her wand rose with it’s final sweep, a green ghostly egg lifted and rose a foot above. With it, the strong scents of lime and whiskey wafted on a breeze through the room. One particularly potent burst seemed to direct its way straight into Tom’s brain. 

_What is this, whiskey?_ His brain felt foggy but it cleared after a moment. Still, the smell deliciously soaked him in its magic _._

“I would argue she is definitely a witch. If I had been unable to determine her age, her innate power levels would mark her as an adult. They have definitely been stretched beyond what a normal school offers the average student.” Tom refocused on the hovering image as Madam Orlet spoke and gestured before them. “This core illustration for example, she must have been powerful at birth, but I would expect a core less than half this size for even that powerful of a sixteen year old.”

Tom’s brain frizzed to a halt. Even with his estimates, he had put her age at a maximum of fourteen, due to her height. Had this indeed been the truth, why had she been the one incapacitated at the magical chaos the night before? _Does that make the blonde more powerful?_

_Sixteen._

This tiny woman shared his age? _Not a child. Curves, pale skin perfectly unmarked apart from scars, for now._ He moved the genealogy book firmly onto his lap and carefully slid a mask of polite interest onto his features. _Fuck hormones in all their forms._

The blonde must be the older of the pair. He needed more information and for today, he could wait them out. “Abraxas, take my chair.” 

Tom needed to get away from the view of delicate features framed by _his_ Slytherin green. He transfigured a spare roll of parchment into an area rug and set up shop below the window and out of the healer’s way. Sitting on the ground, he arranged several books and his notebook. He would study until something important occurred, and did not have time for his useless hormones. If Tom thought Madam Orlet a sadistic woman he would say she taunted him with how long she left the scented magic floating around the hospital wing. He could only concentrate for so long when the temptation to see _that woman_ would drive his head to tilt away from his notes. Each time he would close his eyes and drop his head, counting slowly to sixty internally in parseltongue, before resuming his study. 

The privacy curtain had at some point been removed from the blonde witch’s bed, and her scars now looked weeks old. Edona, for her youth, had undeniable skill in healing. She even took the liberty of mending the rips in the girl’s sweater. The former tears were visible in the patches, but her scars no longer stood on display. Hours passed and each professor took their turn coming to puzzle at the oddities. Any that asked questions of the Slytherin’s presence were told that they were assisting in information collection and took Madam Orlet’s word from there.

Abraxas disappeared and returned bearing lunch at some point, but Tom barely registered the absence. Orlet and Edona began a procedure on the woman wearing his cloak, and he gave up the pretense of studying. The magical core diagram that disappeared before professors began arriving once more flew above her chest, then the green and grey potions were being administered. They seemed ready for anything and Tom felt his own muscles tense.

Seconds crept by.

A surge of scented magic fanned out several feet and then abruptly pulled itself back in and nestled into the black haired witch’s body. Tom found himself tasting the whiskey and lime on his tongue, and stepping up to the bedside. Even there, only a hint of the scent remained. He wanted it back.

“Odd.” Orlet spoke as several more minutes ticked on without anything further occurring. “That was supposed to give a significant boost to her magical stores, yet it barely raised the reserves. I expected much more residue, not for the magic to contain itself.” Turning on her heel she moved to the other bed, Edona swiftly on her heels, firing questions that Tom didn’t have the brain function to listen to.

He pulled himself away from the dark haired woman when the scent of ocean water and lavender spread through the room. Unlike the woman’s magic that moved in gusts, this purple fog crept along the floor. He moved to stand off to the side of where Abraxas once again clenched the bottom railing. The egg shaped diagram hovering over the blonde witch was another that had grown disproportionately large for the supposed age. But with Tom’s previous theory of this individual being the older one, he did not understand what he saw. Her magical capabilities did not exceed that of the woman in his cloak. _Merlin and Morgana, they need to wake up. I need names for them._

The power surge this time extended further than a few feet. It blanketed the hospital wing in its fog and scent. Beside him, Abraxas adjusted his death grip on the bars. It pleased Tom that apart from the scent not being unpleasant, it did not have the same distracting effects the other did. Perhaps his penchant for whiskey amplified that one. The magic rushed in as one, and Tom shook his head. _Another failure,_ he supposed. When the scent disappeared, the magic gave off a faint pulse. 

A loud gasp shattered the silence and Madam Orlet and Edona both took a step away from the bed, ending the spell holding the purple egg together. The blonde in the bed sat up, fumbling her hands along the former wound tracks on her chest before taking another deep breath. She pushed the hair from her face and looked straight ahead and into Abraxas’ wide eyes. Her words were breathy, even at a normal volume.

“Wrackspurts infest me, but you’re gorgeous.”

She sat there with a demure smile on her face while the four of the other five occupants in the room stared at her in shock. 

“My brother?” Edona scoffed before a quick look and gesture from Orlet had her running diagnostics. The Mediwitch and her trainee bombarded her with questions regarding her health, which she seemed to cleverly answer with pertinent but simple responses. She never moved her eyes from the boy at the end of the bed and his bulk did not shift.

Tom smacked his shoulder. “Abraxas.” It pleased him that respect broke through the daze. “You’re stiff and not breathing. Fix that.” His attention shifted to the alert witch and he saw the awareness and knowledge in them focus on him which set his nerves on edge, though he knew not why. Obedient shifting and the unclenching of muscles occurred beside him. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he attempted to remember his next priority after babysitting his right hand and stopping him from self suffocation.

“What’s your name?” Abraxas unknowingly beat him to it.

“I’ll tell you in exchange for yours.” A nod that lacked hesitation later, and she spoke again. “I am Luna Lyra Selwyn.”

Tom’s breath stopped at the last name. The Selwyns were old as sin. Old enough to be a part of the sacred twenty-eight and to trace lines back to the founders. _But their known lines are dead._

“Abraxas Malfoy.”

The witch- Luna, smiled radiantly at receiving his name, and Abraxas again became dazed. Madam Orlet and Edona had begun creating another board for Luna this time, posting diagnostic scrolls and discussing theories. They left the three at the bed mostly alone. Tom moved to the visitor’s chair, adjusting it so that Luna would have a clear view of the still unconscious woman. Sitting, he threw a thumb in her direction.

“And what’s her name?”

Her light purple eyes focused on him. “Ah, yes, I see why that would be important to you. She is my older sister, Zerrin Isla Selwyn. And now you owe me your name.”

_Older sister? Another Selwyn?_ The amusement in her purple irises hinted that she already knew the answer to at least her one request, but he couldn’t be sure. He would only give the minimal information for now. “Tom Riddle.” 

Her eyes saw too much, and Tom retreated, walking the several steps back to the woman’s bed. _Zerrin._ He listened idly as Abraxas’ pureblood political nature seemed to come back to him, and the tone of his questions gained more control. _Zerrin._ He had a name. It echoed in his head. 

He realized she’d had the name all of her life, but the foreign spin of it fit how irregularly she had fallen into his world. Her estimated power level appeared more than worthy. His blue eyes gleamed as an idea sparked.

He sat on the bedside, feeling the warmth of her radiating in the proximity. His right hand lifted without his intent, the pads of his fingers brushing her cloak covered shoulder and down her arm. This unconscious woman somehow managed to bring his uncouth nature to the surface, though they'd never had a single conversation. Her name brought back the taste of whiskey flavored magic, again causing him to curse aloud, lips murmured to an unhearing body. 

“Zerrin... Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know a lot of you have been wanting to meet Tom Riddle. He with his forceful ways, stole 90% of this chapter. Harriet/Zerrin only got a little bit, which is a fully intentional tease.
> 
> We also meet a shit ton of new characters all at once because Tom stole all the POV.
> 
> Comments are always read and enjoyed!


	12. Awake, Without a Need to Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is insanely long word count wise, but refused to break itself up.
> 
> It also covers only like 40 hours of story time.
> 
> Lots happening. Enjoy!

She shifted her head from where it nestled buried among the cool fur of Autem’s coat. Becoming accustomed to the beasts’ presence had not taken much time at all. 

Erat had kept her consistent company through the day as she watched the other two enjoy their antics. He spoke to her of many things, but he seemed particularly curious of the nature of humans. While they traded stories of adventure, she often broke the mood by laughing at the abrupt actions of the frolicing panther in the field around her.

Sum seemed to have difficulty focusing on any one thing for a long period of time. If something else caught her eye, or the play she invested herself in dulled, she moved on without a thought. For what Zerrin - the name resonating in her mind felt more right the more time passed - understood them to be as magical creatures turned deities, Sum acted the least regal.

She had heard that deep voice from her world one more time when things were very quiet. The roll of the letters flowed over her from afar. _“Zerrin...Fuck.”_ It echoed to her and the combination of her new name and her favorite word in _that_ tone sent a curling pleasure through her body and shivers to her toes. The voice seemed familiar, like she had spoken with it before, but the sounds muffled its depths in transit to the extent that she could not pin it down. 

She spent a long while waiting, holding on to the feeling of the shivers on her spine that the voice brought her, wishing it would speak again, say anything, say her name, say that word. Perhaps, speak that word most of all. If she though hard enough a shadow of the voice would sound, _'Fuck.'_ But it wasn't enough. Zerrin wanted the source.

More time passed, and she took turns bonding with the female beasts as well. Sum spent moments lecturing her on having pushed herself drastically months before, when working with her spells. Zerrin’s chest tightened when she realized that the heavy form lacking temperature in bed with her had been the panther, attempting to guard her as best she could. Sum’s lecturing tone died quickly when she bustled the witch on to investigate movement in the tall white grass. 

Autem preferred to walk through the trees. The graceful feline stalked from one pale branch to the next, a silver streak in the other wise colorless foliage. Zerrin did most of the talking, wanting to tell the Mistress of Divination everything about her sister. Autem’s face portrayed as much curious interest as anyone could expect a cat to display, and the witch enjoyed being able to speak so freely of her family to another. The feeling she often got in conversation with Luna, that the other party knew her response prior to her speaking, lingered. Yet, the silver coon did not emphasize it or seem bothered to hear Zerrin speak.

When they had walked for some time in silence, Autem seemed to deliberate on her thoughts. Sitting on a low hanging branch and drawing Zerrin close, her tail stilled as she spoke. “When you return, take care near the sharp tongued badger. It’s bite does little damage, but the growl infests many minds and brings great danger.” Her tail flicked repetitively once more. “And I need much more time with you, Golden One.”

_Divination is never simple…_ She groaned, but reminded herself that any warning proved better than a spontaneous calamity. “I will. Any chance there is a name in there to make the process a bit easier?” She shot a hopeful look towards the golden eyes and smiled.

Ringing bells of laughter echoed through the trees, and Autem resumed her walk. This time she turned and headed in the direction of the meadow. “It doesn’t work that way for you humans.”

“Yes, it never seems to.” Zerrin bit back her groan and followed.

The stroll back ended much faster than their meandering trek. Before long blots of black and gold were visible amidst the white and more color made Zerrin miss her world and her sister. The two other beasts waited for them when they stepped into the clearing. The witch’s strong steps carried her to them and she looped an arm around each neck, burning her face in the warm mane that ringed Erat’s throat.

He addressed her first, his royal voice resounding through his jaws. “Little one, it is time. You have the strength to return.”

She clutched the two necks closer as she felt Sum nuzzle her own skin. “I will see you again?”

“Yes!” Sum’s sharp excitement ripened. “But let it not be here, your near death experiences have been plentiful enough for now!”

Erat’s weight shifted and Autem’s voice sounded from atop his back. “We shall come to you the next time, you are forever connected to us, Golden One. Do not be afraid.”

Zerrin nodded, her tense fingers relaxing in their coats, but she did not step away. A breeze ruffled her long locks, blowing them from her face and she closed her eyes to the falling sensation. 

]|[

Zerrin’s head buzzed and she smelled whiskey. _Oh Salazar, how much did she drink?_

But this wasn’t the sickness of a hangover and she couldn’t taste any whiskey. She hadn’t blacked out since the early days of drinking, as Tata had maintained that no matter the amount of fun or booze, memory needed to stay intact. She lived by that policy, too.

Her stiff muscles protested as she raised her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes and she groaned. “Fucking shite.”

A peal of laughter struck up beside her and in recognition her eyes flew open. On instinct, she jolted upward. Immediately her body had her regretting that decision. Luna’s face swam before her while her eyes watered, and her sister’s hands gently braced her shoulders.

“Easy there, galump. Your body hasn’t moved in days, give it a moment.”

In her woozy state, she allowed Luna to handle her into a seated position against the cold bars of the hospital bed. She listened to her smooth voice as she took in everything around her. The night air around her buzzed with far more energy than she had ever seen before in her previous visits to the hospital wing. It spoke of traffic and company of a much higher magical capability than a single average student looking for a Pepper Up potion for a cough. Either they drew a lot of attention, or the ritual must have ricocheted and harmed others.

_How many days have passed since then for every other bed to have cleared out?_ Obviously, with that and what her body screamed at her with every breath, she had slept for much longer than one night.

“I didn’t realize how accustomed to your antics I have become,” Luna began after she finished fluffing a pillow behind her. “The matron was not sure if you would ever wake after the first twenty four hours. I don’t think my lack of panic helped to calm her…” She trailed off into thought and the dark haired witch grimaced. Having people panic over her ranked very high on her 'things she’d rather disappear than deal with' list. She could only thank Merlin that she had been asleep for that.

Zerrin squeezed her sister’s hand gently as the near imperceptible flow of magic she had been giving since helping her sit up stuttered. Quietly acknowledging the effort, a tender smile twitched her lips. “That is plenty, Luna. I have enough right now.” Her green eyes hardened for a moment as she flicked them from the dark room to meet worried purple irises, and they left no room for argument. Her arm still ached to move, but she saw the glaring _need_ in her little sister’s eyes and she pushed through the burning pain enough to raise the hand still holding hers.

“Come here, my moon, tell me everything I’ve so neglectfully missed.” Lips morphed into a slight tease, but her eyes itched when Luna lost her carefully held together composure. The blonde crawled into the single bed, careful of her movements, and chained her arms tightly to the offered hand. Her breathing turned ragged and Zerrin felt hot tears drip to her collar bone while Luna quietly let all the fear she’d felt out. Despite having seen glimpses of a happy future, Luna had youth and humanity reminding her that the one piece of family left with her constantly attracted danger.

Black hair shifted and wove into blonde strands when Zerrin rested her head upon her sister’s. Her body could not currently offer any more comfort than that, but she knew Luna would understand. The blonde’s breathing steadied slowly and she started to speak through her tears. She told her sister everything of the night they traveled. The hunting, her message to Prince Sev, their unintendedly drastic leap through time, and about the ritual to change their names. She spoke hesitantly when she reached that part, worried over having been presumptuous, but her sister quickly smoothed any doubts away.

“The beasts told me it was the name I was always meant to have. It will certainly take some adjustment, but it's almost helpful that the spell binds us from saying our birth names accidentally. There won’t be any slip ups, and it's much safer for our futures if our names never get mentioned here. The ones you chose fit us well, and they fit who we became in Grimmauld Place. They are special, if only just for that.”

Luna smiled at the praise, the last of her tears drying. “What’s the plan from here? I haven’t told them much except for creating a backstory for us existing. I didn’t even say why we are here, I just kept telling them we had to wait for you.”

Zerrin hummed in thought. “You said it’s 1942?”

“Yep. Only days into the school year. Not even a full week.”

She shifted, bringing pain rippling along her back. _Godric damn it._ She would have to request a pain reliever. Her head angled to have a better vantage point of Luna, taking in the full expression of her pale features. “Nothing in my reading ever suggested successfully travelling forward into time, but if it is what you want, I will find a way. I just need you to tell me.”

The girl at her side shuffled to face her properly, and though her eyes were ringed with red, the sincerity in them shone clearly. “The vision I had the day we left on the Hogwarts Express was about this happening. I didn’t see all the near death, but I did see the not returning part. I followed you of my own choice, you know the future can change, but I wanted this, too.”

“In that case, let’s use the back story you have been spinning and I’ve got an idea.”

]|[

She desperately hated pain potions, and she had sort of forgotten why. With the lightness in Zerrin’s limbs and the temptation to go boneless into any piece of furniture suitable for sitting, the reason now stood in the forefront of her mind with renewed clarity. 

The night nurse had arrived not long after the sisters had finished their reunion, with the madam keeping pace. The madam seemed like a fine woman, perhaps overly touchy, but she did need to be examined so Zerrin may have imagined that part. Madam Orlet informed her in a cheerful ‘if you do this again, I’ll tie you to this bed myself’ manner, that magical exhaustion at her level would likely have a negative impact on her muscles and nerves for some time. Magicals, it seemed, relied not only on their structures to keep their systems processing, but also their magic and when nerves did not have magic, their overcompensation led to pain.

That explained the burning.

So, Zerrin had accepted the _mild_ pain reliever regiment. Now, the morning after, she found herself under the influence while explaining to the headmaster how two strange girls had gotten onto the property, and what they wanted from him. She had to extend her gratitude that he had waited this long to interrogate them. 

“So you see, Sir, we entered through the forest. We had been traveling for so long that all we knew was the direction of the school and that we simply had to hurry. We would like to enroll here. My sister,” she glanced to the occupied chair to her left where Luna sat in her patched up sweater and sleep shorts, “Tells me term has already begun, so I can only hope we are not too late.”

The ancient headmaster named Dippit sat behind the desk and shook as he moved. He picked up his wand and with an unsteady flick enchanted a quill to begin writing at a speed Zerrin could only remember from Rita Skeeter. “Running from the war--” He gasped a breath every few words. “Nasty business, indeed.” He swirled his wand as the quill halted and the paper folded into a crane before flying out the door.

“War always is.” The sisters spoke together.

Dippit looked at them oddly, but that thought didn’t linger as he settled back into his chair. Zerrin much preferred this turtle man to Dumbledore, at least his eyes didn’t accuse her of freakishness everytime she spoke. 

“Hogwarts would be pleased to welcome...the last of the Selwyn line into its student body.” Zerrin’s interest peaked at this new information, but a knock on the door interrupted them. The headmaster’s shaky voice called out, “Enter! Because your previous schooling consisted of tutoring...we will need to test you in each subject offered as to ascertain... which school year suits you best. This is our deputy headmaster, Professor Dumbledore… He will direct you as you begin.” A hacking cough rose from the old man and he gestured a shaky dismissal.

Wanting nothing less than to never have to speak with her former headmaster again, Zerrin grit her teeth and thanked the man for his time. She stood, grabbing her bag and adjusting the oversized cloak around her to hide the less than appropriate nightwear she still wore beneath. One glance towards Luna communicated a similar feeling of apprehension in her tensed shoulders, and together they faced the professor.

Of his appearance in that moment compared to fifty years in the future when they had just seen him, only his startling blue eyes gave an indication of being the same wizard. Not only did his hair and beard follow a style they assumed could be popular in the 1940s, but his clothing did not reek of kneazle vomit coloring. The maroon robes clashed oddly with the red tint fading from his hair, but they were a far cry from the eyesores the sisters were accustomed to.

“Follow me.” Dumbledore spoke to them before turning and moving through the doorway. The empty halls echoed his voice as he cheerfully gave them a tour of the castle on the way to their destination. 

Over breakfast, Matron Orlet had let them know that as it was Tuesday, classes would be in full force. Zerrin peered curiously at Dumbledore’s back as she tuned him out with one ear, absentmindedly appreciating the perfect timing of “Yes, Professor” that Luna parroted back.

_If students are in class, why is he with us?_ Zerrin’s mouth opened, seconds away from asking just that when his tour ended in front of a door marked with a temporary sign.

**Dueling Room reserved for academic testing.**

Behind Dumbledore’s back, the sister’s eyes met in confusion. A thought passed from Zerrin in that moment, _Even with Lockhart, we never got to have a dueling classroom._ The opportunities were endless and her heartbeat spiked as adrenaline coursed through her. Luna sent her a fond look of exasperation, probably seeing the promises of mayhem in her green eyes.

When they entered, Zerrin’s shoulders sagged at the two desks that greeted them. _Godric damn it._ Written tests were so much more exhausting than their practical counterpart, a minor factor which only added to the source of her failing History of Magic grade. They each took a seat as Dumbledore stepped in front of them and tapped the chalkboard with his wand. Writing appeared on the board and Zerrin could not hold back a short groan as she read the list and half listened to their task.

Topping the list were the core subjects identical to her time, with one exception. At the bottom a class subject titled ‘Etiquette’ innocuously waited, giving no further indication as to what the syllabus could cover. A thin line separated the required subjects from the electives and new options also presented themselves there. Healing, Magical Artifacts, and Dueling joined the sister’s previously known Divination, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy. Curiously, Muggle Studies did not appear on the board at all.

“-Professors will be coming in to monitor you as you sit this modified OWL.” Dumbledore had started speaking before she had noticed. “They will be using their free periods today to assist you, and after you complete the written portion on all subjects, we will move on to the practicals. The written tests have been abridged due to time constraints, and in the interest of beginning your integration with the student body.” His eyes twinkled, “We would not want to keep you from making lifelong friendships.”

A thick stack of parchment landed in front of each witch, causing them both to jump at the abrupt change. Luna shot her a competitive grin which she returned with a pained downward drag of her lip. The clock in front of them showed the time as twenty past eight, but it still felt too early. Turning back to the test in front of her, she felt some relief seeing that each subject only had one piece of parchment, but both sides of each were crammed with questions. She sighed. They had sixteen of these to complete and only six bloody hours to do it before their practicals began.

]|[

“It may _technically_ be a victory, but it should not count!” A rather flustered female voice argued from the doorway to the great hall, breaking Tom’s lazy attention on his breakfast. Most of the tables around him were sparsely filled due to the extremely early hour, and even the staff table lacked most of its usual occupancy. 

“And yet, the duel the morning after we drank that case of mead counts?” A familiar dreamy voice replied and Tom’s eyes snapped to the pair causing him to nearly drop his silverware. There in the doorway stood that woman. _Zerrin._ After a day of pulling in his spies to find where she could be when he woke up and she wasn’t where he left her, she strolls in like a leaf on the breeze. 

_Still in fucking underclothes no less._

A small part of his brain curled in on itself smugly seeing his cloak still draped around her shoulders. The younger Selwyn witch stepped forward, obstructing his view.

_Her_ voice sounded again. “I brewed you my hangover potion that morning. This is different, I was Godric damned drugged for all of the practicals and that Madam Orlet dosed me again right before our duel! Obviously that violates our count.”

Tom reeled back. Pureblood inheritance or not, he had never heard vulgarity of the like come from a witch at Hogwarts. It reminded him far too much of his own upbringing and habits he still worked to eradicate. Yet, she had fire when she spoke. Instead of cursing meaninglessly, her vulgar additives spiced her words until the flames from them licked together on her tongue. Even in her obviously angered state, the words she chose only increased her own fire.

The younger sister veered to the side, collecting a plate of food as she stood at the head of the Slytherin table, speaking as the other witch followed. “I am already behind by ninety-four loses, can’t we just make it ninety-three and call it a day?” She smirked slyly, but only Tom saw her expression.

“You wound me, Luna. No one else will duel me. Our sisterly struggle is sacred!” She pushed her hand over her heart and glared at the blonde. The younger sister ignored her elder and poured a goblet of orange juice, holding it at arms length in front of the other. Hesitation flickered Zerrin Selwyn’s green eyes before her entire demeanor flickered in an instant into one of delight. “Fine! Have the victory by duress.”

Luna Selwyn moved the goblet within her reach after the aquescience and her sister snatched it without spilling a drop, taking long drags as if drowning her frustration in whiskey after a brutal day. Tom watched in utter confusion at the scene before him. He again would have assumed the blonde to be the elder of the pair by their dynamic; yet moments later when she pushed a plate towards the woman still drinking from the goblet, she received one short authoritative look, that Tom could remember giving several times in the last few days alone, which convinced the younger Selwyn to drop the matter entirely.

He abandoned his breakfast and pulled his bag over his shoulder, moving towards the odd pair. The first step to any of his plans would have to be an introduction. As he stopped in front of the woman, he paused when in shock her head turned and she visibly appraised him. Slowly her blazing green eyes burned a path from the crown of his head, down and returned to meet his gaze. Emotions flickered through the brilliant emeralds, faster than he could recognize, and the temptation to slip into her mind had him straightening his spine in restraint. Bearing in mind her sacred twenty eight lineage, he limited himself to greeting her formally with a slight bow of his head

“Well met, I am Tom Marvelo Riddle.” His lips pursed in the barest beginnings of a smile as she fully turned to face him neglecting to put down her goblet. 

She returned his bow, a bit stiffly, “I am Heiress Zerrin Isla Selwyn.” His eyes flashed to her lip where her teeth had gained purchase after she finished.

“You’ve created quite the stir with your arrival.”

The blonde snorted loudly at that and it only served to intensify her sister’s tension. Heiress Selwyn shortly answered affirmatively while glaring at the witch beside her.

_That won’t do._ Tom did not understand why he disliked having her attention pulled from himself. With any other witch he already would have cursed her or walked away, but he wanted to see that focus in those green eyes again. The rush, that she saw more than the prefect he showed her.

He gently pulled her right hand from its grasp on the goblet, his touch firm enough to feel her flinch, her instinct abrupt. His curiosity once again peaked when she pushed her fingers gently into his hold in defiance of herself. Turning her knuckles, he brushed his lips over them, lighter than the touch of a quill’s feather. Magic crackled where they connected bringing his eyes to lock onto hers. She jerked her hand from his surprised hold and blurted words out with panic flashing over her face.

“Tata said not until I’m sixty-” Her voice jerked to a halt and she let out a pained shallow gasp as her pale face flushed blood red. “Oh fucking Salazar.”

She spun on her heel so quickly that his cloak flared about her, reminding Tom how short her _underclothes_ really were, before darting out of the hall. Her sister paused in her wake, setting her now empty plate on the table, and sent a cheshire grin at Tom. “She is usually much more articulate.” Her laugh brightened her mood and then she walked quickly out the large doors.

Tom sat on the bench nearby for a moment, attempting to process whatever massive error just occurred. The witch reacted well in the beginning, had not fawned or become clingy to his skin like many did. So what had gone wrong? He settled in his mind that more trials must be necessary to isolate the error, perhaps the issue had not even been related to him...

]|[

Zerrin had been called dense many times in her life over many matters, the majority of which came to human interaction. However, being blindsided in the great hall had been a whole new experience.

When Luna had told her they landed in early September, 1942, Zerrin had taken that as fact and moved forward. She had covered what she knew of wizard and muggle history and figured it wasn't the most atrocious place to set down roots. Never once did she stop to correlate that the diary Tom Riddle, which she had sporadically dreamt of since meeting, had been a thing that existed prior to 1943. In her fragmented memory of him, he never changed and had become much more of a character than a person that had actually lived.

Meeting Tom Riddle felt _nothing_ like her dreams. He had the similar charm and princely cut of his jaw, but actually alive those factors were vibrant compared to her shadow of a memory. His hint of a smile not only pulled her in, but left her wanting to force him to show more than just a tease. The surprise of everything crashed over her. His formality, his full name, him bloody kissing her hand. Then, because the marauder instinct lived strong, she blurted out Tata’s silly words. Because Tom in her space had been too close, too much, _too tempting._

Just being an unaware audience member to his show had sent her reeling. “You can’t afford to lose it now, and certainly not in front of _him_. Great. Let’s just add another Tom Riddle and Voldemort complex to the to do list…” She murmured under her breath as she pushed her forehead harder into the stone wall and her fingers clenched in the hair at the nape of her neck. Figuring out how cemented the 'dark lord' dream had become in the prefect’s brain would be something only she knew required investigation.

“I found it rather adorable.”

A green glow gleamed in Zerrin’s eye when she threw a side glance at her sister walking up to her. In return, purple eyes glittered with contained laughter and a spark of familial irritation had the dark haired girl dropping her bag. Her wand slid smoothly from her holster into her waiting fingers and thrummed in response to the energy output buzzing on her skin.

“You knew! And you just let me make a fool of myself?!”

“You know it’s fruitless to try to stop you when you’ve launched at full steam, Zerrin.”

A glossy black eyebrow twitched, fingers flexing on the polished holly. She growled, beastily responding to such smugness. “Rematch.”

Luna had seconds to toss her bag out of the line of fire, before a dark blue light shot from her sister’s wand and bracing herself for impact became her only option. They traded fire in the first floor hallway, taking advantage of its deserted state and using the extent of their non lethal abilities. They dove and circled, Luna’s cutting hex wrapping around the edge of Zerrin’s shield charm and nicking her ear. Blood flecked from the wound, but the prickle of pain spurred the Avada green glow of her eyes. The blonde nearly missed the next cast and jumped as an absorption charm skimmed her ribs and slammed into a door behind her. 

The wood of the door swelled rapidly, distracting her and allowing Zerrin to catch her off guard with a swift modified _levicorpus_ , lifting her by her wrists instead. Before Zerrin could proclaim victory, however, the door burst apart. Planks flew, ricocheting from the strain they had born and the water that filled the small storage space flooded into the hall, soaking the witch mid-cheer. A couple in a tight embrace burst from space sputtering water, desperately trying to choke in air. Chaos erupted in the corridor as a brunette witch came up spitting and screaming through her coughs. The boy tried valiantly to help her from the puddle seeping away through the halls, but she pushed him away.

“Black, you are the worst sort of depraved! To assault a lady’s pride in this MANNER!” She stomped her foot causing the water at her feet to spray upwards and her waterlogged braided hairstyle to tremble and drip. When the lanky student in front of her only responded with a crooked grin, she released a horrifying wail and fled.

The boy didn’t wait for her to turn the corner before nonchalantly beginning the process of ringing out his hair and huffing. “Not even a decent snog.”

“Tata?” Zerrin’s voice rang with a hollow longing. The boy in front of her looked so similar, held himself in just the same overconfident manner. Had she met her father without the scars Azkaban imprinted in his bones, she believed he would have mirrored this boy.

He turned to her, shocked to see company. A wry smile that had never crossed her father’s face when she stood in his eyesight swept his gaze. Yet, the interest seemed shallow.

Luna, still hanging from her bird’s eye confinement, interjected. “Would you please?” She addressed her sister. Though Zerrin should be proud she could maintain spells easier than breathing, it became very inconvenient for those trapped within. 

“Salazar!” The black haired boy spun, jumping on his heel and cursing himself for having missed a second presence.

“My bad, Sis!” Zerrin called, watching Luna drop back to the floor with a small splash. Luna glanced her way and dipped her head slightly. Purple eyes then flicked to the boy and continued on Zerrin’s previous thought. She inched closer, moving into his space and not caring when her easy confidence with ignoring boundaries had him shifting his weight onto his back feet.

“You are very identical, and yet… Would you not agree, sister?” She glanced over the startled boy’s shoulder to meet emerald eyes. 

Zerrin tilted her head, thinking about her response. “And yet, not quite the same. Yes, I believe you are correct.” She fought to hide her flash of disappointment, though knowledge niggled within her that her father’s birth had occurred much later than 1942.

“Who the hell are you two?” The boy’s statement did nothing to remove the blonde so firmly entwined in his personal space.

“No one you have known.” She arched her head slightly, nose inches from the pale boy’s jaw line. A jagged scratch bled sluggishly just above the boy’s collar. “It appears you’ve injured him, Zerrin.”

“Damn it all!” The closeness of the second female voice behind him finally forced his feet into movement, jostling them both. “Orlet will have my head from finding out that I’m already injured, not to mention another student.”

The boy laughed boldly, shaking more water droplets from his hair. “You’re both mad! I’m Orion Black and it is excellent to meet you.”

]|[

Orion gazed at the two as he followed them up the shifting staircases to the hospital wing. The mannerisms of these strange witches were odd. _Odd. Irreverent. Mad. Slightly adorable in a weird way._

He knew one thing. He certainly would have remembered meeting these two.

Hogwarts students were notorious gossips. Orion himself had spent many hours confined in broom closets with the best of those gossipers. Even though they appeared younger than him, he certainly would have heard rumors of them. Not to mention their strange clothing. Though it had been alluring before they set him on edge, them managing to walk the halls without consequence astounded him. _Where in Merlin’s beard are their uniforms?_

He looked closer at the cloak Zerrin wore, feeling a distinct sense of familiarity at the overly refined material. Standard cloaks were not made with that quality of fabric. Placing it in his mind, his breath left him sharply and he jogged the couple paces required to place himself between the sisters. Raising his hand quickly, he grabbed the corner of the cloak at the girl’s collarbone and turned it, seeing the glimmering gold initials. **TMR**

A zing of pain shot through his fingertips as the raven haired girl flinched away from his touch. She gasped, the sound ripping from her throat, “-Don’t!”

She staggered back, her arms coming forward to cover her chest and brace herself. In a blink the blonde with her mass of loose curly hair blocked his view. His hand clenched, still spasming from the shock Zerrin had wandlessly delivered. Students milled about now, but the witches created their own island and he heard nothing of the whispers they spoke. He waited, curiosity burning over his discovery, but the awkwardness of not understanding how to handle the situation triumphing over it. Minutes later, their island crumbled apart as the two separated. Orion saw with relief that Zerrin lacked any redness in her eyes to indicate tears had fallen.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He drew on a crooked grin to ease his own awkward nerves.

“Scare isn’t the exact word, but apology accepted.” Her response landed much more muted than before, and he stored her previous actions in the back of his mind.

“So, where did you get that cloak?” He hedged as they began their walk towards the hospital wing once more.

Her eyes brightened a bit at that. Pulling the folds closer to herself she scented the faint remnants of clean untainted rain, wanting to bury herself into the source of that magic. “It was on me when I woke up. Someone must have given it to me. I do love it!” She twirled mid step, showing off how the cloak flared about her and inadvertently giving passing Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students an eye full of bare legs.

“Er- Yeah.” Orion’s ineloquent reply did nothing to dampen the new mood change. He exchanged a quick look with the blonde, Luna, only to see her purple eyes filled with mirth. His eyes once more locked onto the cloak, and he could not help but wonder if his lord had suddenly decided to stake a claim.

“Black,” Luna spoke sweetly, grabbing his attention. Zerrin managed to gain some distance on them and already had begun pushing open the door to their destination. Purple eyes flashed and her smile could have charmed any man. “Zerrin takes physical contact from strangers seriously. Stay at Sister’s pace, or play target practice with me.”

_Madness, the both of them._ A strange sense of familiarity struck him, seeing the concealed daggers in the girl’s eyes.

She stepped forward then paused as he made no move to follow. “Well, come along, let’s get you healed.”

]|[

“Is she always that motherly?” Zerrin asked as the three finally managed to slip from the hospital wing laden down with borrowed shoes and a cape for Luna. Her skin itched from so much well intended medical attention.

Orion Black quirked a brow at the shorter witch as she leaned on a statue plinth to shove on a pair of boots. “I would call that reaction rather reserved. Not giving you another night in the wing is generous enough, but directing me to escort you ladies to Hogsmeade rather than a teacher is almost careless of her.”

“I recall you volunteering.” Luna interjected softly, distracted by the soft swishing of the cape about her ankles.

“Hogsmeade trips don’t start for another month and a half! I’m simply capitalizing on an investment opportunity.” 

Zerrin sent a skeptical eyebrow in his direction, but neglected to push. _Not my business._

“Are you not going to be cold? Capes and boots only offer so much protection.” Black asked one more time while they were passing through the entrance hall. Luna smiled as they stepped into the brisk wind. A crowd of younger students, likely first or second years, judging by their size, trudged up from the greenhouses, bodies angled steeply against the buffeting air.

“While we would love clothing, a witch like her,” She nodded to their group member who had stepped out in front, “Usually has her own way of doing things.”

Zerrin flicked her wand into her hand, spinning on one foot and swirling the wrist of her outstretched wand arm as she mumbled under her breath. Wispy yellow droplets of fire spun from the wandpoint, encircling the group and growing into roaring red torch flames. They heated the chilled wind before it made contact with their skin. Instead, warmth similar to sunlight gusted about them.

A strangled choke caught in Black’s throat, before he cleared it successfully after several attempts. “Are there any witches like your sister?” He spoke weakly, following at a sated pace and eying the circle of fire behind him with concern.

Purple eyes focused directly on him, taking him in seriously for the first time. The blonde’s smile conveyed a great deal of pride. “That is a very smart question.”

]|[

_Chocolate. Oh Salazar, the chocolate._ She could see it now. _Chocolate oranges, blood chocolates, chocolate covered cherries, jumping chocolate frogs, and the richest hot cocoa…_

“Zerrin! For the love of Rowena, clothes and supplies first. We cannot spend all our money on delicious sugar!” Luna yanked on her waist and attempted to once more drag her from the stranglehold she had on Honeyduke’s railing. Her sister’s words were reasonable, but she hadn’t stepped foot in Hogsmeade’s beloved candy shoppe in months. With the entrance only steps away, the temptation bombarded her.

“If you spend all your money here, we can’t stop at the Hog’s Head!” Luna tried one more plea.

_Whiskey and chocolate…_ She released her interlaced fingers and the sisters sprawled into the dew covered grass, thick hair flying into their faces. Zerrin swiped her hand, pulling strands from her lips and rolled to her feet, coming face to face with Orion. He stared at her with a puzzled bemused expression, and she grinned back. Her cloak and ponytail in wild disarray from her tumble. Spinning, she pulled Luna up, her extra momentum forcing the blonde to stumble as she righted. 

“Lots to buy! Let’s go, keep up you two!” Zerrin called over her shoulder as she began moving forward into the almost empty streets.

They didn’t meet anyone as Zerrin led the march up main street, seeing a few adults travel from building to building further on. Yet, they did not need to walk far before Orion stopped them and gestured to a rather grand shop. The black roofing tiles had it standing out from the neighboring counterparts and a simple black sign hung from the porch. Silver letters marked the large modified cottage as Twilfitt and Tatting’s: Hogsmeade Outlet.

“It’s the best quality you’ll find in Hogsmeade, and if money isn’t an issue, you will probably prefer the things here rather than the second hand shop down the street.” Orion commented. Neither witch blinked at the disdainful drawl in his voice at the mention of the other store, as he stepped forward and pulled open the door. They passed by him, murmuring their thanks. Zerrin graced him with a smirk that lasted for only a wink before she crossed the threshold and her eyes went wide.

The interior of this clothing shop vastly contrasted with Madam Malkin’s modest rack filled store. Here, only a few silver mannequins displayed intricate fitted robes and gowns, but the remainder of the floor space had been cleared. A low counter held sketch books open to various pages, each with beautiful designs from straightlaced to aeclectic. The walls were lost to the massive spools of fabric stacked horizontally that covered every surface. Every color, silks, lace, cottons all had their place, creating a chaotic yet pleasing decoration. 

A crow perched on the bannister of the entryway cawed as they crossed the threshold and a small commotion began in the back room. A man stumbled out fixing his collar with one hand and pulling a bit of stray thread from his lapel. His hair gleamed a startling dark blue and he smiled brightly at their approach.

“Mr. Black, how very nice to see you!” His rich sharp accent caught every letter perfectly. “Are they finally kicking you out of the foxhouse? It’s unusual to have you visit so early.” He waved a hand opening some sketchbooks and closing others on the long countertop.

Orion held a palm to stem the man’s enthusiasm. “I am not here for myself today. These two,” he gestured to the witches by his side, “Have been roaming Hogwarts with no clothes to their names but what they are wearing.”

Brown eyes shifted to the side and seemed to notice the women for the first time. The man straightened and his tone became more formal, “How neglectful of me, I am Neal Twilfitt. It is a pleasure to have you in my shop. Please, come in and look around. Find fabrics you’d like, and let us talk about a full wardrobe.”

The witches returned his hospitality with simultaneous dazzling smiles and passed by him to the books. They once again had spun, opening a selection of various witchwear apparel. Zerrin listened curiously with one ear on Luna’s clothing commentary and more focus on the shop owner who had spun back to Orion. She liked the Black boy who outwardly reminded her so much of Tata, and while she had probably lost her Black Heiress title to him, she still felt protective of him.

“How could you, Mr. Black?!” Twilfitt began, “Have I not properly clothed and exceeded each expectation given to me by the Black family? How could you hide two younger sisters from me and leave them in such a clothing state?!” The man’s volume did not increase, but it also did not diminish the true anguish he seemed to be feeling. Zerrin took in his fine state of dress, as well as the excellent cut of the robes Orion wore. She decided to step in when her eyes met Orion's panic struck gaze.

“Mr. Twilfitt,” She began.

“Neal, please call me Neal, such formality is not necessary, Ms. Black.” She smiled, and relented, his polite manner and perfectly styled blue locks making her much more comfortable.

“Then please call me Zerrin, and that is my sister, Luna. I think there has been a miscommunication here, our last name is Selwyn, not Black.”

The tailor’s eyes widened, slight disbelief hidden within them. “But your faces are so similar, and you certainly have the black mane in your hair.”

“You could call us cousins.” Luna chimed in from the counter, not looking up from the sketchbook she had immersed herself in. “Tell them your middle name.”

Orion’s grey gaze grew with intensity as it flicked back to the eldest of the two. “Your middle name?”

“Oh.” She had forgotten that tie back, the cover for the knowledge of the Black family magics, and the blood of the Blacks that ran through her veins and now Luna’s, thanks to the naming ritual. Blood once given by Dorea Potter nee Black then reinforced by Tata himself. “My middle name is Isla, I’m named after our many greats grandmother.”

“Phineas Black’s sister...” Orion’s eyes scanned her face, looking for the traces the tailor had so easily seen.

“A pair that are both Selwyn and Black! Come witches, let me work on prime canvas.” Neal ushered them towards the empty floor space, pulling his wand and lifting plinths from grooves in the floor. “School uniforms to start… What are your houses?”

He gazed at them expectantly and Zerrin forced a chuckle. “We haven’t actually been sorted. We kinda barged in the other day unannounced.”

“The hat’s choice will depend entirely on my sister.” Luna’s awareness had Orion sending a slightly freaked out glance to the raven haired girl, but she shrugged it off.

“So they will need to change…” The tailor muttered to himself and flicked two tape measures to begin their work. “I can manage that… Let’s see. You will also need cloaks, boots, essentials in variety, day clothes, and formal wear.”

Luna started to speak when the blue haired man turned back their way, “Please, convince her to wear something other than-”

“Black.” Zerrin interrupted. “I want all of mine to be in black.”

“Objection!” Luna raised her arms and gestured to the fabrics. “You can have some all blacks. But you would look lovely in something colorful. Look at all of your options!” Zerrin turned her glare onto the blonde, not eager to have another conversation on her lack of feminine fashion sense, when Luna pulled out all the stops. “Father and Tata both _loved_ color.”

Zerrin’s objections about black being the easier and more comfortable color after the fortnight dissolved on her tongue. She thought of Tata’s bedroom decked in red and gold, color being his first choice in rebellion. Memories drifted forward of stories Luna told her, late at night, huddled in the lord’s bed in the Black ancestral home. Stories of a man she could never know in person but would soon claim as her own, who had never worn black a day in his life. Forever insisting that the brightest colors were how he could help paint the world. 

_Luna isn’t asking for all color…_ A quiet part of her nudged. 

She leveled the blue haired man with a cautious look. “I haven’t worn color besides this cloak since the fortnight mourning observance ended. There can be some color, but just in a few pieces. And nothing too _extreme_.” Her nose wrinkled.

“We can work with that, Ms. Zerrin.” 

She rolled her eyes at the continued formal address, and it earned her a wide grin. Stumbling forward, she nearly fell when Luna collided with her back and arms wrapped around her waist.

“They’d be proud.” Zerrin knew the face pressed in between her shoulder blades hid a happy smile, and she squeezed the hand on her front. She hoped Luna was right.

Orion stepped up to her as the tailor moved to pull fabrics from the walls. His eyebrows pinched together and a muscle in his jaw pulsed as his teeth clenched. “A fortnight. Are you referring to a Black Fortnight?”

“Yes,” Luna's blonde head pressed harder into her back as Zerrin spoke. Her words pulled the attention in the room, “We were orphaned recently, and we observe our family traditions.” 

Orion bowed at the waist, a hand fisted over his heart. “May your fathers find peace, and may their children prosper.”

Zerrin pulled Luna to beside her and whispered in her ear, jaw stiff and holding back emotions. Together they faced the boy who could only be the Heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black and spoke. “Our magic thanks your sincerity and gives protection.”

Grey eyes glanced up at the unexpectedly returned blessing. Zerrin barred his only chance to question it with a smirk and a turn of her heel. She engaged the tailor in a conversation about their wardrobe and had Luna enamored within seconds. Orion faced sitting out or chiming in and decided he wanted to see how far he could push the underclothing section of each witch’s wardrobe. Soon, Neal had two fully prepared sets of blank Hogwarts uniforms that he guaranteed would gain house colors after their sorting, though he refused to explain the magic behind it. Zerrin’s complaints that the skirts were too long during the fitting process were quickly remedied, though Orion did step in before the length became scandalous. Luna gained a new cloak while Zerrin asked for hers to be set aside with her other purchases, citing a deep attachment to the one she currently wore.

Orion wondered how large of a mercy he could bribe from Tom with that memory alone.

Each witch slipped on a pair of black dragonhide boots, eager to kick off the shoes that hadn’t fit properly. When they finished completely and Neal Twilfitt finally satisfied himself that they were fitting enough to leave his shop in the morning light, they exited. Promising to pick up their purchases and their previous clothing on their way back to the castle, they set off on the remainder of their errands.

School supplies went quickly, whereas Orion had to drag them from the potions materials and ingredients. He continued to send worried glances to their school bags as he had seen them tuck the purchases inside, knowing they were unorthodox for any level of Hogwarts student. Trunks and textbooks, finally rifling through Honeydukes and leaving the shelves nearly bare. To Luna’s surprise, almost cleaning out the store took significantly less galleons than she had expected. Zerrin laughed at the green coloring tinting Orion’s pallor at their candy greed, but she just shoved a peppermint into his mouth from the full jar they left on the shelf and slapped an extra knut on the counter.

“To the bar!” Zerrin cried as she unwrapped a chocolate frog and led the small group on. They traversed the short expanse before collapsing at a table in a shadowy corner of the Hog’s Head. Orion’s exhaustion warred with his pride before losing to his upbringing.

“Is this the type of place you really want to eat at?”

“Fuck no. The food here is terrible. But you can drink here if you know the tricks.” Zerrin smirked, letting a little bit of her excitement bleed through into her eyes before she stifled the glow. A young waitress came by to take their order and Zerrin swirled her fingers gently on the tabletop, wafting magic in the innocent’s direction. “Two firewhiskey doubles, a double of gigglewater, and one each of your largest bottles unopened, please. We will also take the check.

The waitress opened her mouth as if to ask about their age, and then paused as the magic clouded her intent and seemed to vaguely answer the question for her. Regardless, she left and soon returned with their order, the large bottles drawing the attention of a middle aged man standing behind the bar. At the rattled off total, Zerrin dropped a galleon onto the table and pulled the two large bottles quickly into her side bag. She picked up her glass as if her actions were completely normal and Orion glanced at the other sister only to be faced with more mild amusement.

“Orion, I assume you drink? Excellent, then cheers to an enjoyable outing, and the start of a boring year.”

Orion snorted as the three clinked glasses and he grinned widely seeing the slight grimace the blonde gave and the absolute lack of reaction Zerrin offered to the much stronger liquor. “No way that will be true.”

“Zerrin doesn’t believe in luck. Trust me, it's a _very_ good thing she doesn’t.” Purple met grey and a high giggle burst from the blonde, sending the rest of the table into fits of laughter as well.

“C’mon you lightweight, we’ve got more shite to do. Lead on, Orion.”

The cool air hit them all in surprise after the warmth of their drinks and they resolved to finish up the errands as fast as possible. Several back alleys curved around to a magical artifacts shop known to have rarer items. Just walking by the window, some views offered promise in the shop and the three knew that the truly powerful items would be held further within.

Luna suddenly breezed by the other two, darting into the store and leaving them in the wake of her abnormal behavior. Exchanging a look, they both raced in after her, finding her standing just inside, staring at a stuffed bunny. It’s pristine white fabric swirled with silver and the nose, feet, eyes and long raised ears all had been inlaid with a rich purple. Luna reached up to touch and her hand came into contact with a thin red case blocking the move.

Zerrin motioned to interject, when Luna pouted and sent out a pulse of magic which the stuffed bunny returned. The answered magic shattered the case and she pulled the bunny into her arms as alarms blared in the cluttered shop. A plump woman darted from the back of the shop her cropped hair the same red as the magic barrier.

“You can’t-” She stopped in shock seeing the blonde witch clutching the bunny safely.

Luna froze at the sight of the shop owner and her bright hair, and her sister stepped in between immediately. “I apologize for causing a disruption. Can you please explain what this bunny is?”

The woman’s attention zeroed in on her, content to give information to the situation. She explained the dark protection amulet and what little she knew about it. How it had accepted no other and had not allowed anyone to touch it without harm since its previous owner had passed of old age.

“Will you sell this to my sister?” The woman appeared torn, but acquiesced, given the unyielding exterior the green eyed witch displayed to her. 

“Orion, I believe I can see the marble of a pensive in the back, will you please handle that for me?”

The boy shot her a short questioning look but did so with a nod, quickly moving on to haggle with the redhead on the price of not only the pensive but also the bunny. When they disappeared around a corner, Zerrin spun and crouched to where Luna had sunk onto her knees. The bunny seemed content to let the life be choked out of it and Zerrin smiled at that. She reached out half way, waiting for Luna to complete the other half and it pleased her to see a flicker of awareness in her purple eyes.

“That was the first time you’ve seen red hair. You did really well. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” She rubbed her thumb on the other’s palm. “The woman said you need to name it. Quickly.”

“Wabbajack.”

Zerrin blinked. “Merlin, I shouldn’t have told you that story… Deal, It’s nice to meet you Wabbajack.” She smiled a wry grin to cheer up her sister and helped her to her feet. “Can you wait outside for me? I’ll only be a moment.”

“Yes, Sister.”

Zerrin pressed her lips to the blonde’s forehead before bustling her out of the shop. She turned into the isles of artifacts, careful to keep her distance, now only too aware that this woman kept very real merchandise. With any hope, Orion had finagled prices and they could get Luna out of here without again seeing her or her red hair that looked a couple shades too close to a Weasley.

]|[

The great hall buzzed with activity. Rumors had spread through the school on flame point, flying faster than any teacher would hope to contain. Tom’s network of spies revealed only that the witches were given a day pass before disappearing. Even questioning the younger year students who saw them leave only served to amuse him for a short time. Apparently, the raven haired witch truly did hold power, enough to control a large amount of fire with ease.

Now, each new band of students entering the hall took one look toward the staff table and only served to add to the volume. The three legged stool and hat once more sat in front of the long table, and those not intelligent enough to connect the rumors to the events were spinning wild tales about a resorting of students. The uncoordinated noise echoed, reverberating in his palate and the bones of his skull, pulsing an ache in the roof of his mouth. He swallowed dryly at the onset of the dull pain, knowing he would not be dampening his reflexes with any pain relievers.

Orion plonked down in the seat on his left, causing Tom to flare his eyes open and grip the edge of the table rather than do something so undignified as jump. 

“My lord.” The surrounding noise disguised Orion’s formality from all but the tight group of elder Slytherins at the center of the house table.

“Report on your absence.” His frustration leaked into his wording.

“I was assigned to escort two ladies into Hogsmeade for the day.” Tom’s blue eyes jerked back to Orion’s as he finished the report. “The trip revealed a good deal of information. Most of which they would prefer not be made public, I am sure.”

Abraxas chimed in from Tom’s right, “What is your public conclusion then?”

A manianical gleam filled the boy’s grey eyes and his wide grin echoed his Black lineage, a smile that verged on the edge of unrestrained glee. “They have madness inside them, and it’s absolutely adorable.”

The majority of the boys around the table edged away from the Black Heir, unaccustomed to seeing the playboy exude such exuberant viciousness. Tom felt an edge of something he did not understand within him, a tension in his spine combined in a wariness to now watch over the interactions between his roommate and the woman with a fine eye.

Headmaster Dippet rose and the candles in the hall flickered in a wave. It took much more time than normal for the students to simmer down and focus forward. “Thank you all...Tonight’s feast will be a bit more special than a normal Wednesday. Hogwarts welcomes two transfer students into its hallowed halls this eve. Both have tested into our sixth year curriculum. Professor, if you will.”

Tom leaned forward from the furthest wall of the hall, eager to see her again. He could not help the greed that wished for a sorting into his favor. Students shuffled along the tables and small first years climbed onto their knees to see over the heads of the taller students. Hogwarts had not seen the like of a student transfer in hundreds of years.

Dippit motioned towards the open doors, where Professor Dumbledore strode in, followed by two _finally_ properly clothed witches in greyed out hogwarts uniforms. One curiously bearing cloak in Slytherin colors draped over her side bag, the other clutching a stuffed bunny. They walked a fair distance behind the teacher, the blonde slightly instep after the other. Both had their long flowing hair loose behind them and the fullness only accentuated their similarities. They stopped ten paces before the raised steps the stool sat upon, letting the professor continue without them. 

Both appeared immune to the grandeur of an evening feast. Even though Tom himself knew the welcoming feast at the start of the year to be even more overwhelming, it did surprise him that they were able to perfectly mask any awe they felt at the current splendure.

Dumbledore’s voice rang out. “Selwyn, Zerrin.”

Buzz raced through the hall, the lost last name bringing a fever to those familiar with the sacred twenty-eight and Tom swore he saw the Heiress grimace before her face once again smoothed over into a blank mask and the sorting hat descended. The brim moved but instead of the expected shout, silence ensued as it continued to mouth words that only the black haired witch could hear.

The minutes ached on, the tension in Tom’s muscles refusing to relax as he desperately wished both to hear the conversation within her mind and to have her sit beside him. Finally the hat released a heavy huff before calling out its verdict at the seven minute mark.

“SLYTHERIN!”

The snakes erupted around him in a quick cheer, Orion standing and wolf whistling, sending snickers down the tables. Zerrin waited by her sister rather than joining the table as Dumbledore called out again. 

“Selwyn, Luna.”

The blonde skipped to the stool, the hat resting on her head for less than thirty seconds before the brim ripped open and with a desperate shout it flung itself from her head. “SLYTHERIN!”

The two moved together towards the thunderous applause, completely forgoing any congratulations from the transfigurations professor and ignoring the muted reaction from the rest of the hall. Orion began shoving the students in the court beside him aside, clearing two seats on the bench. Before Tom spoke to assign the new witches seats he had already flagged them down.

“Luna! Zerrin! There’s room right here.”

Tom’s eyes sharpened on the boy’s back at such an informal address, stories weaving in his mind as to how he could have accomplished such a thing. Green eyes on him pulled his gaze and he watched in distinct satisfaction as a red flush bloomed on the Heiress’s cheeks. She smiled a small quirk of her lips and then turned, letting her hair fall over her cheek. Tom watched her carefully, finally having a chance to see her interact with a group of people rather than just an individual. He raised an eyebrow at the antics in front of him. 

Zerrin had sidestepped to the outer edge of the three seats, motioning for Orion to help her sister into the middle seat between them and positioning herself between any strangers. However, her order had been denied in a manner that to any but the dimwitted, proved the younger Selwyn’s home in the House of Salazar Slytherin. The girl twirled, using the female heir as a balancing beam and slid into the far seat, smiling all the way. 

Orion offered his hand to formally assist her into the seat, more than likely a show for the table. “Zerrin, in this house the middle typically represents leadership. Even in a group of three that is a part of something larger.” 

Tom’s only balm to her smooth fingers resting on the palm of the other boy’s hand came in the cutting glare that flickered in her eyes. Again, he could feel the stirring of want threaten him. As they seated and settled he took control of the assembled court. He looked first to the Black Heir, then each of the sisters. “Orion, as you seem familiar with the Selwyns, you will provide their formal introduction into house politics. Anything he cannot answer, feel free to come straight to me.”

“That is very generous of you, Riddle. Thank you.” Zerrin Selwyn’s voice did odd things to him when it wrapped around his name. His mind whirled, analyzing what the possible causes of such a thing could be.

“Luna!” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts about halfway through the meal. Exasperation bleeding through as she rubbed her forehead. “You agreed to the rules. Wabbajack stays in your lap at meals unless you have an empty six seat buffer or else he goes into your bag. No exceptions.”

The blonde moved to pick up the stuffed bunny which had been placed on the center of the table. Any students within earshot picked up their plates and slid down the table as far as they could. The bunny itself did nothing out of the ordinary and returned to its seat atop a still grey skirt.

“Heiress Selwyn, is there an issue?” Tom questioned.

“No issue... However, the bunny is new and I have not had a chance to test out the limitations of its capabilities. I find the best place to do those things is not the dinner table.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

“Yes, please.” Orion whined under his breath. The two heirs shared a pained look.

Tom quirked his brow at the odd coloring of their uniforms once more. “Is your school tailor perhaps colorblind?”

The sisters blinked at him, identical looks of confusion before Luna nudged her older sister. “Oh! Neal said you’re supposed to do the spell.”

“Oh!” Zerrin smiled and lifted her empty hand to touch the Hogwarts crest on her sister’s chest. “ _Revelio.”_ A green wave washed over the blonde, ruffling the fabric of her uniform and transforming it to the traditional Slytherin coloring. The students silenced at the sight, but the girl turned her fingers to the badge on her own breast and repeated the spell. Green eyes closed when magic ruffled her collar, purging the grey in favor of deep black hues. Her hair breezed behind her and the entire area spreading the whiskey and lime scent of her magic over the table top. Tom’s eyes dropped without his permission and he saw the green raced to fill in the proper lines on a skirt that didn’t seem to cover as much smooth leg as guidelines dictated it should. Tom’s tongue felt heavier and he had to swallow back the sudden thirst.

“The. Fuck.” His voice broke the silence before his awareness caught up. Her eyes snapped open directly to his, deeply hungry in that moment. 

“It _was_ you. Say my word again.” Tom swore looking into Avada emeralds he understood what Orion had meant, _Madness and yet she is worthy of adoration._ It only made him desire her willingly kneeling before him all the more. The wide smile he sent her way held a threatening promise and Tom Riddle did not speak again during that meal.

]|[

Abraxas Malfoy directed the small group from the great hall and Zerrin played along as she pretended to not know which section of wall would open the Slytherin common room. Luna bumped her shoulder and her hushed voice spoke, nodding at the head boy, “He is just so rigid. It makes me want to bite him.”

Her smile gleamed all teeth before she buried her face in Wabbajack’s long ears. Zerrin pushed her fist to her mouth to disguise the puff of laughter that escaped. The loose fingers between them linked together and the group of first years around them halted behind the head boy. The space of dungeon walls that seemed to be their destination were unmarked, apart from the alcove and statue of a grand serpent sitting in direct opposition.

“The password until next Friday is ‘Heritage’.” Abraxas directed his words specifically to the new Slytherin sixth years. The bricks of the wall began to twist, peeling back and forming into a solid archway resting on pillars. “Do not write it down, and ask another house member if you happen to forget it.”

Stepping through the arch presented an entirely different experience than her previous look at the snake commons. The first years around her visibly relaxed as the doorway sealed behind them and they slipped off to chatter by one of the many fireplaces that lined the large room. The total volume remained comfortable, the occasional higher cry receiving more attention than another, but nothing overtly standing out. Groups cluttered together socializing and studying. A pair that seemed to be seventh years were engaged in a fierce chess battle and stray students lounged in armchairs or on the fringes of groups. 

Zerrin spotted Orion Black in a group deep in a serious discussion. He defied the mood of those around him, lounging in one of the armchairs around a hearth they circled, feet kicked up and nearly napping.

Abraxas tilted his head for them to follow him and headed straight for the Black Heir’s group. Luna plopped down at the base of Orion’s chair, taking the place of where his legs would usually be. Zerrin didn’t glance at any of the furniture, rather she eyed the plush rug in front of the licking fire. No one in this group had capitalized on the prime area, so she dropped her bag by Luna’s side and snagged the green and black cloak that she had draped over it. 

The boy talking in the group behind her stopped completely as she fluttered the fabric around her shoulders, slipping both arms into the broad sleeves and pulled the green lined hood up over her hair. Eyes on the fire slipped closed as she laid down on the rug, sinking into the glorious cushion beneath her and pulled her arms upward to pillow her head. The prickling feeling of being watched niggled at her temple and the group remained silent.

Green eyes blinked open, catching a flicker of gold at her collar before she turned her head to face the group. She scanned the young witches and wizards assembled, sitting so properly for how relaxed the younger years had been. They gaped at her, looks of horror and disgust completely unmasked and she wondered only if they felt that for themselves or for her. Abraxas settled into the only empty armchair and she had to crane her neck back to see him. 

She saw the young dark lord then, for the first time since entering the common room. He sat on a leather chair between Abraxas and Orion, and she realized how the curve of the group swept around his placement rather than the fire. She turned her head further to take him in. He made an odd picture, lounging as if he owned everything the light touched. An ankle rested on his knee, his shoulders comfortably squared. Of everything, Tom’s eyes demanded her attention. They did not stray from her, nor did she see any of the hesitation she had come to associate with boys her age from her own timeline. Those blue eyes insisted upon her, pulling reactions she could only remember from dreams and she swallowed the sudden moisture in her mouth. Chills started at her spine and raced to her toes, raising pimples on her legs despite the heat from the nearby coals. Heat pooling in her core, Zerrin raised herself on her elbows, grateful that the hood of the cloak stayed up and tucked her flushed cheek into the collar.

It had to be her imagination. _The result of too many lustful fantasies._ She knew absolutely _nothing_ about the prefect boy, too much about the man as a dark lord, and more importantly he barely knew her Godric-damned name, let alone had thought about her more than once.

“Oh, Salazar. Fuck me.” She whispered to herself. Her eyes darted from Tom’s when Orion jerked in the beginnings of laughter. Luna sent a merciless stinging hex his way, causing him to yelp and pout mulishly. Zerrin looked back to Tom, worried that he had heard as well, only to see those blue eyes storming. He had shifted, now leaning forward preditoraly. His knuckles were white in restraint. She braced herself for wrath.

A voice interrupted the moment that felt like forever. High and reedy it cursed through that fog clouding her mind. “Stop acting so disgracefully and get off the floor! That position is not proper even for a _little girl_.”

Emerald eyes locked onto the brown haired seventh year witch, and the fire behind Zerrin burst from a low crackle to a furious roar. It spilled upward out of the mantle, smoking into the room and tainting the white marble black with ash.

“Enough!”

Tom’s powerful voice broke the exchange, the fire behind her dying down to coals. Stepping between the witches, he broke Zerrin’s line of sight. She held her daggers for a moment, then dropped her gaze to his shoes as he sat on the table in the center of the sitting area. She couldn’t help but notice their position, to wonder what he saw from the blue eyes she firmly avoided as she lounged beneath him. He sat angled slightly, enough to address she and her sister head on.

“The Slytherin leadership has been briefed on your schooling _history_.” He twisted the last word skeptically. “You’ll find Hogwarts to be a very different experience from personal tutoring. The castle here divides her students into four houses, and we, you included, are Slytherin.”

Movement brought Zerrin’s eyes upward and she swore he smirked at her as he leaned forward. “Like the other houses, we have our Head of House, Professor Slughorn, and the house prefects. Unlike the rest, leadership in Slytherin goes further. You currently sit amongst the court, those to whom tasks are delegated by the King and Queen. Slytherin has a few basic rules: If you have a major issue with a fellow Slytherin, handle it in a toilet, the forest, or the common room, but do not handle it publically. Ambition within the house is respected, all internal titles are either appointed or won by duel. Finally, abuse of any kind is not tolerated, and will be strictly dealt with.”

He stood and moved back to his seat. Luna’s eyes caught hers, brimming with more questions than she could read.

“It’s plain to see that you lead here, Riddle. So, that makes you King?” He nodded at her, that smug hunger still trapped beneath the surface. Zerrin gestured dismissively to the brunette witch that had dared call her _that word_. “Does that make _that one_ Queen?”

The witch in question let out a squawk while Orion snorted loudly and moved to hug Luna from behind. Zerrin turned her head slowly, watching the pair whisper together and glance her way before they had to hold onto each other to muffle their laughter. She flicked her wand, shooting a silencing spell at them, intent on getting the answers to her questions.

Abraxas' patient voice pulled her attention. “No, Yaxley, as you can see in her placement on the opposite side from the king’s chair, has about as much luck becoming Queen as she does of passing NEWT Divination this year.”

Yaxley flipped her hair down, but did not speak back to the aristocratic boy.

Tom cleared his throat softly. “Now, then. Welcome to the house of Salazar Slytherin, Selwyn sisters. Burke, continue your report. How are the first years adjusting?” 

Luna and Orion prodded her from behind, probably having just realized they couldn’t remove the silencing spell, and as the older boy picked up his report once more, a black haired girl on the couch closest to Zerrin leaned over. “There hasn’t been a Queen in the three years since Tom Riddle took the position.”

Releasing the silencing spell, Zerrin leaned forward eagerly. “He was King in...third year?”

“Absolutely. Beat out a sixth year for it. Tom didn’t even mean to take it.” Orion added in from the other side.

“Why, then?”

He hesitated. “Ahhh… I’ll tell you when he can’t hear.”

“That’s really for the best.” The witch interjected, her wild hair slipping over her shoulder. “Well, I’m Walburga. I heard Orion has taken quite a shine to you Selwyns, I must say, his description is peaking my curiosity. I think we should really come to know each other better.”

Zerrin started at the name. Her face had so few of the markers of stress and pain that the painted woman could never hide. Lines that carved themselves with each loss and hour of grief. The witch in front of her sat a mere child, barely a laughing dimple and color still blossoming on her cheeks. Zerrin’s hero complex kicked her in the gut and she wanted to tell the other nothing bad would ever happen. But Godric, when would that promise ever be true?

]|[

Tom returned from rounds late that night. The female Hufflepuff prefect assigned to pair with him having come down with some abrupt flu symptoms, leaving him with double the workload. His eyes caught the flickering brightness of a lit fireplace and he glanced at the timepiece on his wrist. _Half past one. Why would anyone risk being caught awake?_ Least of all when most were aware he had rounds that night. As he moved forward, he caught a glimpse of shining crystal and dark amber liquid.

She was there, sitting on a loveseat in the glow of the flames as if she belonged in their light. _In the fucking nightgown that doesn’t actually cover anything._ Her eyes were glassy and though he hovered over her, she didn’t register his presence until he spoke.

“Why are you awake?” _Why are you drinking? Why are you wearing that?_

“Hi, Tom.” She sipped from her half full tumbler and motioned with it to another empty one on the coffee table. “Would you like a glass?”

Something in him jumped at the use of his first name. She spoke with such ease and familiarity that not even Abraxas or Orion had managed. He watched the lag in her movements and curbed any positivity coming from his thoughts. _She’s probably just that drunk._

Sighing, he crouched in front of her, pulling her empty hand towards his and feeling for her pulse. It beat slow and steady, almost too regularly for how he had always seen her act. He stayed there, fingers on her wrist, as she continued to take small sips of the firewhiskey that tickled his senses. His muscles cramped from the strain, and he almost stood to push the stubborn witch back to her bed when she spoke.

“I did something I can’t regret. I meant my action with my whole heart and I saved my sister’s life.” She drank until the glass emptied and reached for the bottle. Tom pushed it firmly into the cushion with his free hand.

“No abuse of any kind, Zerrin Selwyn.”

“I’m not- I’m _fine._ ” She huffed and pouted, puffing her bottom lip out. That strip of pink flesh tempted him to run his thumb along the seam of her mouth and smooth it away, but he resisted. They settled again into silence and Tom shifted his legs uncomfortably. Patting the couch next to her, she rolled her eyes and lolled her head a bit too much for the motion to be a sober one. “Sit, I’m not going to bite.”

He nodded, pulling her empty glass and the terrifyingly almost empty bottle from her, to set them on the table. Then seated himself next to her, pulling his legs onto the loveseat to avoid the chill on the floor. “What action was necessary?”

A long pause stretched the air between them as he listened to the crackle of the flames an elf must have lit just for her. 

“This was a child, demented by the influences around him, not true malicious intent. I’ve seen them both too many times to count. He just fell beyond saving… Three times that I remember, someone’s crossed a line. Pushed too far and forced my hand on a decision between life and death. I don’t want it. This choice, no matter how people praise me for being a savior, is filthy. They continue to force this burden on me and I’m just...so tired, Tom. That doesn’t even include the other lives I’m responsible for-” Her voice broke in its babble and she reached forward for the bottle.

Tom raised his arm out, again blocking her path, and she sagged back, her body pressing into his side. Her arms curled around his and he stiffened as she hugged the muscles through his sleeve. “I called him ‘friend’ once, and now I’ve chosen another death.” Her voice began to drift as the alcohol and body heat finally worked within her system, “Help me, Tom... Like...in my dreams...”

The witch’s grip slackened and she fell forward into his lap. Her hair splayed to the side revealed the scarred bare expanse of her back and she shifted slightly, pillowing her head on his thigh. He stared down at her, not knowing what to believe. The creature currently invading his personal space looked far too demure for the madness he had seen only earlier in the day, or to be confessing to a total of three murders. Her breath deepened, becoming heavier with sleep and her weight fully rested on him.

The smell of whiskey tickled his nose again and were she in the right frame of mind, he would have accepted a drink from her small hands. His eyes caught on a cloak draped over the arm of the couch and he pulled it with his free hand to cover her exposed skin. Gold glinted at the collar. His thumb traced the threaded letters, **TMR** , and he recalled possessively seeing the glint at her throat during her outburst earlier that evening. 

At some point between seeing her awake while wearing his initials and hearing Orion’s private report, Tom no longer wished to take this cloak from around her shoulders. The information that had been revealed on the Selwyn sisters’ distant relation to the Black Heir and the panic each witch had suffered during the day, would require long term action.

A claim. A ‘courting ritual’, Orion had said. Tom didn’t care for that context. _Yet, a claim can serve another purpose._

He shifted the bundle in his lap, clasping the cloak around her throat. His eyes followed the curve from her neck down to the plunging neckline of her dress as he lifted her. How she had walked the castle in _that_ , he could not fathom, nor would he have allowed it... Unlike the first time he had carried her, she shifted, burrowing further into his chest and curling into the hold of his arms. He grunted at the sudden movement, and glanced suspiciously down at her for signs of awareness. Deep breaths continued against the fabric of his shirt and the part of her face not hidden by her mane of hair showed nothing.

Tom wove his way through the furniture, into the girl’s dorm room hallway and to the door he had assigned the sisters. Assuming the other would be asleep, he fumbled for the door handle, entering unannounced. The only light spilled from the dim hallway into the room. The two beds that normally sat on opposite sides of a dorm had been pushed together, transfigured into one large bed, and centered in the room. The oddity caused Tom to raise his brow before another shift in his arms reminded him of the cargo he currently transported. Moving to the unoccupied side, he laid the witch down, leaving the cloak on her and pulled the blankets on top.

A hand bunched itself into the fabric on his chest as he attempted to leave and several more minutes of listening to deep breaths were spent grappling with the woman’s surprising grip. He leaned near her ear, stroking the hair from her face, and commanded softly when all other attempts at force failed. “Release me, fire demon.”

Zerrin Selwyn rolled towards him, but her fingers did drop, allowing him to quickly back away from any of her further tricks. Just behind her, purple eyes that were far too wide and knowing gazed at him unblinking and he cast a hasty retreat from the room.

The door clicked shut behind him and he leaned against it as he collected himself. The woman never gave him time to _process information_. But, she likely would remember little from what had even occurred. He checked his watch once more. _A quarter to three._ _Salazar._

She always left him with too many questions. One day, his patience would snap and she would answer for every single one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved last week, it took me about a day to find my computer, and a couple more days to even have the time to post this chapter.
> 
> Thank fuck most of the writing for this one had been completed pre-move.
> 
> The backyard in this house is awesome, and it's so much better to have three dogs in a house rather than an apartment. Take my word for it and never try that. It's madness.
> 
> Comments make me *smile* and encourage writing! - See you soon for the next chapter.


	13. Conspire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things:
> 
> Since last I updated I discovered someone attempted to take my story without permission and translate it into Spanish, then take authorship. Therefore, they STOLE. I wish I never had to say this, because for most of you it will never apply.
> 
> I take what I write seriously. Yes, this is fanfiction. Yes, this is entertainment. But it takes WORK, and effort, and heart to create original characters that I hope any of you will give a damn about. Or put my own spin on JK Rowling's characters to make them different from the thousands of other fanfictions out there.
> 
> If my story is stolen, I will hunt you down, I will take back what is mine and I will get your account deleted by the site administrators if you do not remove my story from your account. 
> 
> Easiest thing to do is just DO NOT TAKE FROM ME IN THE FIRST PLACE.
> 
> Someday I will want translators and I will want communication with them, because anyone that has learned more than one language knows that word meanings and inferences do not always translate directly. But, any translations of my work have to be asked for and then approved of by me.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Secondly. Thank you to those who were patient with me. Not long ago I had to unexpectedly put one of my dogs to sleep. Which is not an easy thing for me to talk about. I am a dog trainer. Dogs are my life.
> 
> Shit Fucking Sucks.

]|[

The world was shaking. Nothing felt solid. Perhaps it wasn't shaking so much as wobbling like a jello mold that had not spent long enough in an ice box. She had seconds before everything around her turned to liquid and she too fell.

Zerrin's hand splayed out, searching the sheets for her wand but jostling her body in the futile effort. A heaving in her gut had her rolling onto her stomach despite the feeling the quick motion inspired and the rancid smell of bile assaulted her senses. Her eyes screwed shut as she internally cursed. _What happened?_ A wave of magic passed over her when the smell of ocean and lavender took the other odor away, cleansing her mouth in the process.

A slim hand barely touched her back, ghosting soothing circles in an effort to calm the chaos in her body. _Godric bless Luna._

"We don't have any of your hangover potions. Do you want one from another student?" Luna whispered the dreaded news and Zerrin tempered the flare of frustration that ran through her. She didn't need strong emotions to have her puking, again.

"Please don't…" She groaned, the vibrations of her own voice sending throbbed pulses through her head and testing her gag reflex at its limit. "They'll all have the sedative component. And taste like...that." She mimed her hand from her mouth to the previously soiled sheets.

“Water?” Luna whispered.

She croaked an affirmative and barely a second passed before a cool goblet of water pressed into her hand. “Tata would kill me for blacking out…”

Luna mused, continuing to rub soothing circles as Zerrin slowly managed to sit up. “Perhaps, but he would more likely laugh at you. Probably bang a frying pan with a spoon near your head.”

The black haired witch flinched at the thought, “Exactly. Death.”

“You’d like Father’s route. He would make this terrible concoction and have me drink every drop. But he brought breakfast in bed, and would be sure to keep the lights low. It was utterly lovely.”

“Luna, that does sound lovely. And it sounds exactly like why you’re still a lightweight.” She lolled a grin at her sister playfully. Together they got out of bed and headed for the showers. Zerrin felt immensely proud of the fact that she only tripped once over flat ground.

As they emerged from their dorm somewhat more presentable the second time, they passed through the deserted common room and into the empty halls. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luna watching her carefully.

"It'll be fine, my moon. It's not like I've never been hungover before."

Luna hummed mildly under her breath. "It is just uncommon for you to be carried to bed damsel in distress style."

In her still sluggish brain, Luna’s dreamy words took an extra moment to process. When they did she hooked her arm through the other's, bringing her to a halt. "So, who, _exactly,_ has the rest of my Firewhiskey?"

Luna smiled widely, thrilled at her own revelation. "Sister, not just every damsel is rescued by the King."

]|[

His fork did not do anything so undignified as screech across his breakfast plate, but Tom considered it. He knew it would have, had he not been keeping one thought process on maintaining his appearances.

_‘...Pushed too far and forced my hand on a decision between life and death.’_ Her words from the previous night swirled in his mind. _She couldn't possibly have achieved actions I myself have yet to…_

He scanned Slytherin's table once more, again noting that all the students of his house were present apart for the two newest additions.

"Orion, was it not your responsibility to inform the Selwyn sisters of procedure and house tradition?" 

Orion jumped from his contorted position and shifted his leering gaze from a girl several benches down. "They weren't in their dorm at all. I waited for some time, and then assumed they must have come up here."

He shifted under Tom’s unwavering iced eyes, but a voice from the other side of the table relieved him of having to speak again.

"I'm positive they were in the showers all morning." Walburga leaned in from the other side of the table, her eyes bright and alive at the interesting topic. “The elder looked poisoned, honestly. But they were in there long after I left."

"Oh, and I'm banned from going anywhere near the girl's facilities! So, _unfortunately,_ I could not have assisted further." Orion quickly jumped to his own defense, causing Walburga to giggle.

"Why ever would they ban a polite young man like yourself?" A dreamy voice danced in, turning all three heads her way. Tom's brow rose at the sight that greeted them. From Walburga's report, he would have expected a much more rumpled exterior. Instead, both sisters' attire had not a single thing with which he could find fault.

Zerrin moved past where her younger sister had stopped to chat and dropped heavily to the table in her seat beside Orion. She stared at the feast in front of her with a look that phased somewhere between destructive and desperation. 

Orion's voice bounced loudly and the witch beside him flinched at the noise. "Well, I only went in to guarantee the witch's safety! But Tom, here, disagreed and said witches don't fall in the showers on a daily basis. And that is how my heroic self became banned!"

Luna Selwyn responded something back, but Tom had his focus narrowed onto the older sister who had begun breathing harder and closed her eyes midway through Orion’s impassioned defense.

Pulling his wand from his sleeve, Tom swept a glance over the jugs in front of him and recalled the morning he had introduced himself to her. Finding his target, an inconspicuous nonverble hovering charm had it landing in silence directly in front of the black haired witch. Her eyes flickered open as she registered the change. He felt a slow curl of pleasure at the life the jug of orange juice seemed to bring her. 

Her fingers brushed the chilled surface, disrupting the even condensation build up. With the confirmation that what had been placed in front of her had not been an illusion, she quickly poured a goblet and drained it. The second cup she held in her hand protectively, finally glancing up. Circles under her eyes and a whole new shade of pale to her complexion were the most visible signs of her night of heavy indulgence. So long as she could refrain from flinching, even Slytherins would be hard pressed to notice. Tom knew the work it took to maintain a reputation. Yet, that didn't seem to be this woman's priority.

She met his gaze, for it had not wavered since delivering the juice. She glanced at the jug in front of her in surprise and then back and him and he allowed the corner of his lip to twitch upwards for only a moment. His small display of emotion was rewarded when a blooming red flush shot across her cheekbones and her lips parted just so from the surprise.

The display brought too many thoughts into Tom's mind. _Is this how she looked when she 'chose death'? What else makes her this way?_ He desired to see her wield her wand even if not in a proper battle, to see her magic, and to taste it once more on his tongue as he did in the hospital wing.

He shifted in his seat as his thoughts of magic brought too many reactions out of him and tuned himself back into Orion’s conversation with the blonde sister.

]|[

Zerrin did not know how to react to Riddle. Her instincts took the lead, causing her face to flush as her head pounded and she still gripped the gifted orange juice with white knuckles. The rush of blood to her head did not help her hungover state. Her eyes dropped from their connection and she gulped down her second glass.

A sharp reedy voice broke the boisterous conversation Orion had led. “Enquiring minds are ravenous to hear, what is the deal with these two new Slytherins?”

Zerrin’s head whipped around to the tall figure looming behind Luna and immediately stifled a groan as the motion sent a wave of pain through her. The new boy took too much notice of the way Luna flinched forward while Riddle, Abraxas, and Orion all turned on the bench to address his presence. Regardless of the lack of greeting, he continued on, “I am Daniel Skeeter, Ravenclaw sixth year prefect and writer for Hogwarts’ very own _Weekly Parchments!_ I just know our readers are begging for some more information about you Selwyns! So, when can we interview?!”

The raven haired witch wrinkled her nose at the brown haired boy. _There isn’t enough orange juice at this table for this to occur._ She glared into her empty cup before refilling it then turning back to the Ravenclaw. “Skeeter, This will be my only statement. I don’t interview and no comment.”

He turned his greedy gaze to Luna but she only shook her head and replied, “I publish my own news. Flibberjets would learn to swim first.”

Orion, taking their cue, stood and led the boy away from the table by the arm. Most likely speaking some sort of discouragement, if the stricken look on Daniel Skeeter’s face said anything.

“His descendants really did inherit his distinctly unpleasant behavior,” Zerrin spoke to no one in particular. She missed the odd looks she received at her particular wording.

Luna interjected, "They've probably been infested for generations. Exterminations like that really require soul deep treatment.”

"Yes, beetles are nasty things…" Zerrin trailed off before her gaze caught on the clock in the hall.. "Shite! We have to get to potions early if we are going to talk to Slughorn, Luna.” She bustled up from the table while downing her fifth glass of juice, waved halfway at the court surrounding them, before rushing with her sister hot on her heels. Both sisters completely missed the flurry of whispers that broke out at the table of seers and their interpretations.

For Zerrin, her first day of classes in 1942 felt a mix of nostalgia, because teachers and lessons truly did not change all that much it seemed. Comfort, with Luna by her side in class for the first time; To find something amusing and have her sister there - who understood her so utterly - making eye contact and laughing just the same. The frustration and confusion mixed into her day came from the two boys who were repeatedly seated in between her and Luna. First by Slughorn - despite having had both Luna and Zerrin pass a NEWT level practical and ask to be paired together - he claimed it would “transition their adjustment”. Then in Charms again, the waifish French woman teaching disallowed any stereotype by giving no ground. She stated that the two sisters would never catch up in her class unless they had the assistance of two students with formal schooling.

Therefore, Zerrin felt only mild surprise when after lunch Professor Merrythought interrupted her praise of their abbreviated OWL scores at Tom’s arrival. 

“It really was tremendous! To see it corporeal and then used in your duel as a physical form for maneuvering your opponent! Simply breathtaking.” The middle age witch smiled cheekily, “We simply must see it again. Oh, Tom! This is my teaching assistant… Come, this should impress even you.”

Tom looked up from where he and Orion stood amidst what Zerrin could now recognize as the sixth year court members and smiled charmingly at the professor.

Before either of the sisters could insert a word in edgewise, the wizened woman had blustered on. "If only you had seen, Tom! Twas the most excellent display of a patronus I've seen in many years. Why, I would argue it unsettled even our dear transfiguration professor's last end of year display!"

Tom's eyes gleamed, but his head tilted, questioning how much the professor seemed to be exaggerating the tale as he stared the sisters down. Zerrin felt an itch in her chest, a feeling and voice crawling from her throat while being under that level of speculation. Stroking the hollow of her throat to massage the feeling away, she cleared her throat.

"Professor- Isn't class starting?"

The professor jolted from her maintained babble and collected her skirts, striding to the front of the room. "Yes, er- Thank you, Miss Selwyn. Students, please pull out your copies of _A Silent Defense_ and turn to chapter one, Nonverbal Spellwork."

The sisters hesitated at the front of the class, unsure which seats to take, as students seemed to be sitting according to a pattern.

"Oh, yes, Selwyn and Selwyn," the professor scanned the room and her eyes landed on Tom and Orion. Just as the professors before her, eyes brightened as if brilliance had been bestowed. With a flick of her wand, the table the Slytherin boys sat at enlarged and a swish brought two chairs floating down in addition. "Please join this group. Riddle and Black should be able to assist you with any questions you have with the reading."

With the same air of inevitability as the previous professors staring down at them, both girls exchanged a look and relinquished themselves to the internal conspiracy plaguing the teaching staff. Orion and Tom graciously stood, the former with a silly flourish of his hand and Riddle himself with eyes intent on command. The blue orbs clearly spoke of where he wished each witch to seat herself. Appeasing him, Zerrin bumped her shoulder against Luna’s and took the far seat directly next to the imposing prefect. 

Right as Luna turned around the other end of the desk, Zerrin caught the wink her sister threw her way. Chills jolted down her neck and across her shoulders at the fear for what the devious blonde had planned.

“As I was saying- Nonverbal spellwork begins best through the spells we have already individually mastered. If you have yet to become proficient in a spell when using your voice to direct the magic there is little hope to simplify something as wild as the flow of pure magic…” Merrythought continued through the lesson, pointing out examples in the chapter as reference points, but for the most part teaching from her own knowledge. Zerrin had moments of wonder at her level of clarity on a subject matter but the professor would soon break that daze apart by physically stumbling over something on the teaching platform, jolting the class out of their focus.

“You will have a semester long project. The student sitting beside you is your current partner. The goal will be to take a high level defensive or offensive spell and simultaneously cast it nonverbally.”

_Fuck._ _Of course Luna had been winking._ Zerrin rubbed the side of her neck and for the first time that lesson allowed herself to acknowledge the Slytherin beside her. Tom Riddle sat relaxed in his seat, the only thing that betrayed his facade twirled slowly in his fingers. The feather of the quill blocked his expression from the remaining students in the class, but to Zerrin his revealed smile preyed on her instincts. His teeth split widely, wildly, the stillness in him reminding her of an animal prepared to pounce.

“So, Selwyn. What shall I do with you?” The hungry threat came so gently she swore she misheard.

“Pardon...?” She cursed the softness she could hear in her own voice.

He leaned in, a touch closer than would be considered tutorly. “What shall we do? We will have to work together, I wonder, can you keep up with me?”

The daze that had surrounded her abruptly dissipated in the wake of her spiked fury. She tensed and leaned in further. The immediate change in the air had his eyes flashing to hers and she giggled breathily. “How do you propose to test me? If it is a battle of defense, by all means, Riddle, choose the way you would like to lose.”

He took a breath, prepared to counter, when a voice from behind interrupted them. “Tom Riddle, it’s been much too long!”

Zerrin jolted, nearly bashing her nose into Tom’s forehead in her haste to move backward. _Too close! How did he manage that so easily?_

“Good afternoon, Prefect Befehl.” His pace showed nothing of the panic Zerrin's displayed, but nonetheless he did shift himself to face their guest just slightly.

“You remembered!” The blonde sixth year brightened visibly, but kept the majority of her elegant stance. Zerrin could see the clear differences. This Hufflepuff prefect reminded her much of the Patil twins or even the Greengrass sisters. Purebloods raised in refinement and trained in the art of poise and propriety were easy to spot after her upbringing.

“I cannot afford to forget a name,” he smoothly deflected meaning from the recognition but the girl verbally stepped forward undeterred. 

Positioning herself to Tom’s side she remained standing as she looked down at Zerrin. “I haven’t seen you around before the last couple days. You must be so _new and lost,_ ” she stressed the words, “for dear Tom Riddle to have taken you under his wing. I’m Verene Befehl, Hufflepuff sixth year prefect. I would be happy to lend a hand and take some of this responsibility from your prefect’s plate if he is too busy.”

Autem’s voice echoed in Zerrin’s mind. _‘When you return, take care near the sharp tongued badger.’_

“Befehl.” Tom stood. “Do not overstep into house business that is not yours to handle.” Darkness fluttered over the badger’s features as he turned away. That malic hovered as the aristocratic boy paused when Zerrin failed to follow the lead that Orion and Luna had already heeded. “Heiress Selwyn, there are more things in need of your attention.”

Zerrin blinked and the golden yellow clad witch before her seemed as straightforward as when she first arrived.

“Zerrin.”

The sound of her first name from his lips drilled through everything else. She rushed to collect her book and parchments, causing her to stumble over her words.

“Right! Yes- I’m with you.” 

Blushing and stuttering she caught Luna’s offered hand, though she failed to return the soft smile. With Orion bringing up the rear, they followed their Slytherin king from the room.

]|[

“I think our first day would be a great day to skip class. How about you, Luna?”

Zerrin stared mutinously at her schedule as the group followed Tom to their next class. The blaring letters on parchment steadily transitioned into a looming door in front of her. Her feet automatically backed up until she felt the hard press of the stone railing on her center back. Orion and Tom both turned at her strange reaction.

“I mean, the self study program really can’t be that hard now can it?”

“Zerrin, We have to.” Luna’s words were empty, as though she were going through necessary motions she could not even care to believe.

“Godric, please make this a boring class.” Zerrin raised her plea then pushed open the door to the transfiguration classroom just before the bell.

The entire Transfigurations class period she sat on edge, wanting nothing to do with Dumbledore, young or not, and barely learned a thing. The lessons were still a repeat of her previous two week’s sixth year learnings so the buffer in learning gave her an edge. She noticed the hostility when Luna would raise her hand and especially when Tom attempted to join in on the lecture. Dumbledore seemed focused on his Lions first, the non confrontational Slytherins second, and the snakes in the pit last. Her summer had prepared her for when his gaze finally turned on herself.

“Ms. Selwyn,” he called just after releasing the class, brokering no argument as to which sister’s time he demanded.

Zerrin flickered an urging glance back to Luna and as she halted her step the remainder of the group lingered behind her. “Professor.”

“Your lack of attention and involvement in this class does not bode well. I would suggest dissolving those attachments that are keeping you from lessons. Dismissed.”

_Who the fuck do you think you are?_

Without a word she could say that would not land her in an entirely warranted detention, Zerrin turned on her heel and led the march to dinner.

]|[

She smoothed the wrinkles from her mint green apprentice robes and heaved a sigh. There had been another strange ‘accident’ today. Another female student ending up in the hospital wing unwell. Edona’s hands brushed a stain of blood and sick and she sighed again before swiftly changing out of her uniform.

Madam Orlet had been able to keep the issues under wraps for the time being. Having so few assistants in the hospital wing worked to their benefit. At the beginning of the year, several upperclassman witches were falling ill with what looked like minor potion poisoning, then two Hufflepuff prefects and now a Gryffindor girl. Victims - Madam Orlet had decided that morning. There had simply been too many over too long a period of time for it to be a coincidence or matter of carelessness, and the houseleves were not the type to be so sloppy.

The little factual information they’d established repeated in her mind as she traveled the familiar path down to dinner. Her knees hit the bench and she stepped in next to her brother as the conversation flowed over her.

“...Were living on the continent before our parents sent us away. With the wars currently ripping through both sides, it wasn’t safe. Tata and Father knew they would be targeted soon as well.” Edona’s attention caught the mention of two male parents, and her head turned to the younger Selwyn who had been speaking. The dreamy voice continued, “They told us the most wonderful stories of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. Traditional schooling with mischief and creatures and wild magic.”

“Your parents went to both schools?” Edona found herself asking questions before she could stop.

Zerrin laughed and answered. “Tata nearly got expelled from Hogwarts, but no, he was never terrible enough to have to attend a second school. Father attended Beauxbatons through his youth.”

Luna nudged her sister, “Father always did say it was a good thing they met after graduation, otherwise he would not have given a beastly man like Tata the time of day.” 

Orion and several other boys broke into laughter, probably recalling having something similar said to them, but Edona’s curiosity burned. 

“So, you’re...from them...?” She attempted to ask delicately, but still desperately desired her answer. Anticipation tingled inside her, and she could feel it stirring up her inquisition, magic running to every blonde flame curl in her hair and electrifying the roots.

Beside her, her brother tensed from his relaxed sentry position and honed his full attention into the conversation. Whether in response to Tom Riddle’s identical shift or purely for his own interest, she could not determine. The sisters wore matching looks of innocence as they addressed their captive audience, and a pause hung heavy. 

Luna broke the silence first. “Neither Tata nor Father ever had an inclination towards witches. It caused quite a lineage problem in Tata’s family until they found a solution.”

“Tata was too wild to be the one to carry,” Zerrin supplied. “But children had been Father’s dream for forever and he was one of the greatest inventors we had ever known. Luna and I are actually almost a year apart in age.”

Electricity crackled and Edona forgot to breath. _The solution. Could it truly exist in some form?_

“Hello, I haven’t introduced myself outside of the hospital wing,” Edona stood and reached across the table. “I am Edona Malfoy, a fourth year and a healing apprentice. I will offer you any services at my disposal, and I would like to be friends.”

Luna laughed, accepting the offered hand, “We will need it, my sister gets injured as often as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack steps in shit.”

“Hey!” Zerrin protested.

Tom spoke up suddenly, “What, dare I say is a Crumple-Horned Snork-”

Zerrin reached over the table and slapped her hand over Tom’s mouth, cutting off the end of his sentence. “Don’t!”

His eyes blazed above her small fingers. Edona and the remaining students stepped backward in shock and fear. _No one touches Riddle so familiarly._ Company at the table evaporated. At the center of the buffer, Tom Riddle rose in his seat and the Heiress had yet to drop her hand completely. It hovered between his chest and her upturned face. Riddle’s features set themselves in stone and yet his blue eyes burned like ice, freezing the witch half over the table. His hands moved slowly to cradle her face. Fingers curled into black hair and Edona saw the actions as much for the Heiress as for a message to those around her. He demanded a level of order, and she was his to demand such a thing from.

Edona had to admit that Riddle knew how to showcase the witch. She held a beauty about her on a regular basis, but he turned her in that moment into a statue of a goddess, something untouchable by the common man. 

He whispered to her, and then the moment had broken. Riddle addressed those standing, “Enough with your fuss. Sit, dinner is not over.”

Edona jolted. The heiress hadn’t flinched. All through checking her over in her recovery she had been aversive to all touch apart from that of her sister, and yet no part of her pulled away from the force today.

]|[

A glittering granite disk caught the light of the moon and reflections in the water. It spun in lazy circles as it hovered on the edge of the shore. Nearby a bag filled with clear vials lay, each one recently emptied. Luna pulled the stopper from the last and let the memory slip into the pensieve. The silver surface flashed with the image of a tall black rook in a field of grass then smoothed to nothing once more.

“Wait-” Zerrin’s hand pressed gently on her arm. “We have company.”

Luna turned and squinted in an effort to see the approaching figures. The raven haired witch’s instincts must have been honed further than her own because it took several moments before she could see the distinction of their cloaks even in the moonlight.

Zerrin sent out a pulse of magic, easy and non threatening. Luna sighed when she saw the tension in her shoulders relax.

“Riddle, Malfoy, Orion. What do you need from us at this hour?” Zerrin called out.

“This is far past lights out. A habit seems to be developing.” Riddle drawled.

Abraxas blushed as he met Luna’s eyes. “Luna seemed downcast after dinner.”

“Meeting under the moon sounded like trouble.” Orion winked.

Luna paused for a moment, “You may stay if you wish, we will not be changing our plans. to stay, make yourselves comfortable under that tree...”

The wizards muttered their skeptical agreements, but moved aside. 

Luna took Zerrin's hand and together they faced the pensieve. Memories splashed happily within, urging them forward. Calmly she called out, “Father, this is what we offer in our grief and loss. We offer to relive our happiness, to cry for not only our sorrow, but also our joy. To remember forever what we once had in order to build our lives upon what you taught us.”

Together their fingers broke the surface of the cool liquid and by the edge of the Hogwarts lake, two figures disappeared from beneath the moonlight.


	14. Silenced Lips

The liquid within the pensieve chilled the tips of their latched fingers at the first touch. Then with the strength of a firm grip, the cold froze about their hands and pulled them from the light of the moon. The area they fell into took its form slowly, pulling structure from billowing smoke. Before them the pub entrance to Diagon Alley appeared.

Standing near the bar doorway paused a very well dressed young man. He stood just outside the muggle notice-me-not charm and drew all the attention in the area for the grandeur he unintentionally flaunted. Gold fibers, strong but with an intensely delicate grace, formed the cloak covering his shoulders and long white locks fell to mid back. The pearl blue uniform beneath pulled every eye as he pushed through the warded zone and into the riotous pub. The walls the man passed through and the street with its bustling noise ballooned into smoke.

“Father stood out always.” Luna whispered as they stood on the side of the scene. “Particularly after his return, Wizarding Britain did not know what to make of the prince who had been trained in France.”

“Tell me everything. I want to know him. If I am to truly claim Xenophilius as my Father, I want to love him as you do.” Zerrin squeezed her sister’s hand sharply.

She smiled back, “With every breath.”

The public in the pub noticed Xenophilius in waves, many looked, alerting those next to them of his presence. Sloppy whispers ran through the tables, “Beauxbatons boy, tha'one.” A woman near the back asked every other witch if that wasn’t, “That Love boy that used to run in the alley.” 

Xenophilius smiled. Waving politely, with aristocratic pleasantries on his tongue, he used every step to take himself closer to the archway into the main alley. As he escaped the remainder of the crowd and the scene shifted again into the length of the alley around them, a shadow of longing passed over his smile. Gold boots moved along the dusty path to the shining building of Gringotts, his feet more aware of his actions than his mind. The two girls watched as he strolled the decongested streets. Every now and then a fellow patron would bump into him and turn to react negatively, only to be confused when Xenophilius failed to see them and continued on his way. He had just stepped into the intersection of Knockturn alley when both girls’ heads turned to a loud shout and a black and red painted figure came flying into Xenophilius’ side. 

The momentum of the figure was too much for the daydreamer and both went tumbling to the ground. The girls watched as the dark figure quickly rotated them so that his body sustained the majority of the fall, and his arms cradled the golden blond man to his chest.

The stranger wheezed a laugh from his place on the ground. “Shite! You blend right in with the sun, you gotta learn to stand out more!”

Xenophilius started up, a look of shock on his face, “Obviously. That was the fundamental issue with our situation.” His head tilted to look at the man below him.

Wild sweat ridden finger length locks atop the young man’s head had fallen to the pave stones to reveal his face. The boisterous smile and grey eyes that outlined him were on full display. He laughed again. Having the intense vibrations rumbled through the body beneath him, Xenophilius could acutely feel every point at which they were connected with sudden interest.

“Who likes to blame themselves?” A seventeen year old Sirius Black smiled. He caught a length of the man’s long white blond hair and tugged. “Brilliant…” The word leaked out of his mouth without intent.

Xenophilius pulled back, stepping out of the loosened hold and back onto his feet. His hands dusted his clothing as he continued his half steps in retreat.

“You’re every bit a beastly man.” A curious need burned in Xenophilius’ eyes but he turned away and the memory faded.

Smoke surged to reform and Luna spoke in the silence. “Father used to tell me that the best things in life are the strangest. Yet, he ran at first because he did not know if Sirius Black was a strange beast he could tame or one that would consume him.”

The smoke settled once more and the small sitting area of Flourish and Blotts formed in the alley's place. The girls sat across from their younger Father at a small booth tucked away from the remaining diners. Xenophilius stared blindly through the book he held and stirred a long cooled cup of tea with the other hand. A sudden jostling of the only remaining seat beside Xenophilius had the blond man’s bright eyes jolting from his book and directly into the wild gray of their young Tata. 

Sirius leaned forward into the other’s space, eyes wide and alert, nose skimming his jaw and the sisters saw their father forget to breathe. Whether out of shock or something else, the way Sirius Black moved was not fully human. The dark haired man changed course abruptly, attention zeroed in on the book. 

“The Three Brothers?” Sirius barked, “Always thought they had a bit of pluck to them.”

Xenophilius collected himself, bristling up as though he had just been mocked. “They are far more than fairy tales! Tales come from truth.” He began collecting his things despite the fact that the man in front of him blocked his only exit from the booth.

“Whoa, Pretty, I never said a bad word did I?” Sirius stretched out, caging the man in. He smirked, “Besides, I came here for a reason, I want you to tell me your name, Pretty.”

“I...Well...Xenophilius.”

“Brilliant, just like you.” Sirius leaned in again, much closer than was appropriate for a crowded bookstore, kissing the flesh just behind the corner of the man’s jaw. “Pretty Xeno, you can call me Siri, and I’ll see you again soon.”

He leaned back with a shit eating grin and the bookstore disappeared in smoke.

“What the fuck. Tata’s a perv for Father.” 

“Well, yes. But there’s far more, Zerrin.” Luna giggled.

Smoke shifted and the breakfast cafe of a small wizarding lodging house formed around them. Teenage Sirius leaned across the table with a wide, thin velvet box in his outstretched hands.

"I found something extra special for today's gift, pretty Xeno." Xenophilius' fingers clattered his teacup at the nickname.

The velvet covered box snicked open to reveal a bold necklace within, thick gold had been molded into three interlocked shapes, a vertical rod, surrounded by a perfect circle, trapped within an equivalent triangle. Each piece blended into the other seamlessly, while remaining a figure point of its own.

"It's beautiful." Xenophilius breathed.

"You can carry your love of the Hallows forever," Sirius smiled, his grey eyes a shade brighter than normal.

The blond man pulled the box to his chest and grasped Sirius' fingers. He pulled him up the narrow steps to the third door on the second floor, pushing through and closing the door behind.

"Siri-" Xenophilius began, clenching the box over his heart.

Tata started forward, his hands threading into the loose blond locks and fitted their mouths together in a searing kiss. He pulled back only a breath away, "You should start saying my name more." 

Sirius fused their lips while backing his soon to be lover against the desk. The movement jostled the items placed with precision atop the intricately carved wood. Feathers, scales, books, and even a miniature globe tottered in place. Xenophilius' hand slowly brought the velvet case down and added it to its brother gifts, before his fingers brushed the hip of his beastly man and he gave in.

Neither sister spoke as their parents faded into the smoke. Sound broke through the next memory before the environment had fully formed, a woman's voice screamed on what otherwise sounded like a lovely afternoon.

"Muggle Leather, a motorbike, covered in FILTH and he is sleeping on couches for the lack of having a home!" A middle aged blonde woman screamed from a manor porch, her accent flawlessly hitting every syllable of the insult. "Filth as such is barely wizard-kin!" The lady of the house declared.

Xenophilius stepped between her poisoned glare. "I may have known this man for a year, Mother, but he shows a greater devotion to kin daily than any member of our family. To continue to insult Sirius Black is to alienate me as well."

"No son of mine would cling so closely to shattered remains, even those of a family so honorable as the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black." Her purple eyes settled into rings of steel.

"Goodbye, Mother." Xenophilius clasped Sirius' hand and pulled him to the bike waiting at the edge of Lovegood Manor. 

"I've been called much the same by my own mother, Xeno. Don't worry about me."

Their young father's face shone fiercely when he responded to Sirius. "No one should ever tell you such things. You, Sirius Orion Black are mine to protect." They straddled the motorbike seat without looking back, and the memory faded to white.

A slightly older Xenophilius sat at a curved dining room table, his hair in his hands. A circular kitchen formed around him, the walls bright and colorful. 

“Home…” Luna mumbled as she and Zerrin stepped forward to see what occupied the man on the table. The front page of the daily prophet lay spread over the surface. Beneath the date, November 1, 1981, read the headline **BLACK CAUGHT FOR MASS MURDER BY THE FINGER**. Tata struggled in the photo, his screams silenced but his energy seemed to reinvigorate with every repeat of the scene. 

Xenophilius murmured to himself, slowly gaining volume. “Can’t be. He wouldn’t- He would never take James and Lily from little Harriet… Why didn’t you come home, Siri? Why didn’t you ask for help? This wasn't you!”

He stood, his chair screeching back from the table and abandoning the paper. Quickly his feet traveled up the stairs into the study above where a massive printing press lay ready. Standing at the desk he prepared several notes, filled his travel bag, and looked upward with determination. 

“You’re innocent, Siri. The Quibbler and I will prove it.” A crack of apparition sounded and the scene blinked apart.

Zerrin slumped to the floor, her own head in her hands. Luna spoke again, “That's why he wrote those articles about every person that believed the mass murder had been one of their loved ones. He wrote all the ‘Stubby Boardman’ stories because the whole time he believed in Tata’s innocence. He just didn’t know how to prove it enough to get him released. Father began causing as much trouble politically as possible for the ministry after that day.”

“Tata was right, Father was brilliant.” Zerrin clasped her hands and smiled tightly as she responded.

The next memory came slowly. A reluctance clung to Xenophilius’ every smile but the sisters watched as he remained true to Sirius. One day a woman approached him, a seer, odd in every way and not particularly interested in romance, but in company. She made their father a deal, she would give him the child he had desperately wished he could have had with his love, if he in return would be her companion until her end. 

Luna’s birth awakened something in Xenophilius, a love stronger than any he had ever known, and immediately he wished to give her the world. He taught her of Siri, of the man he knew someday she would meet. He and her mother Pandora taught her to accept the strange things that life presented and to actively seek out her own confidence. 

Luna and Zerrin laughed in breathless gasps as they watched a five year old with bright purple eyes stand knee deep in the stream fishing. The plimpies she attempted to pluck fought her hold and sprung from her small clenched fists up into the air. Some landed back in the water but many landed on Xenophilius across from her or on the girl herself. The small blue creatures wiggled and squirmed but lacked mobility outside of water and ended up flopping in both blondes' hair, staining sections light blue.

Luna’s mother stood in a hailstorm of magic as Xenophilius pulled Luna to a safe distance. Her small voice screamed, asking what was going on and she saw her mother mouthing words back.

Xenophilus spoke the words she could not hear as the life fell from her mother, and the magic ceased into silence. “Smile, my child. There is so much ahead for you, you too shall soon See.”

Zerrin gripped her sister’s hand tightly as the debris faded away. “It has to be different, being able to remember it.”

“It is,” Luna whispered. “But having been nine means it happened a long time ago. Ultimately, she was right.” She squeezed their joined hands, resting on her sister for support.

Bright red ballooned forward as Platform 9 ¾ pulled into view. A proud Xenophilius gave Luna a once over, checking her painted sneakers, mismatched socks, overalls, and ‘Quibbler Speaks’ t-shirt. He kissed her on the forehead, “My waxing moon. Every day you seem to grow.”

“Can we dance, Father?” Her happy voice asked.

Xenophilius stood and after posing at each other with a stoic look, they sprung into action. They bumped their right sides, spun in a slow circle with their hands gently flapping above their heads, and came full circle to bump their left hip. Their secret exchange left them giggling madly and had other families giving them a wide berth.

“Go on Luna, explore Hogwarts for me, and tell me all about it.” One last tight hug had him joining the crowd of parents waving to their children as the train whistle blew and the Hogwarts Express pulled from the station ladened with precious cargo.

The memory that pulled itself from the smoke next was more one of opposite forms, the main landscape shone a blinding white. It reminded Zerrin too familiarly of the other world where she had met the beasts during her near death experience. She shivered, though it had nothing to do with the cold she felt sure her father currently subjected himself to. Snow collected at the mouth of the mountainside cave allowing enough room for the two owls that swooped in. Xenophilius relieved them of their burdens before offering them the scraps from his meal. Creatures moved in the shadows and the owls fluttered off in fear. Either not needing a reply or refusing their training for waiting for one, they launched away.

_The Daily Prophet_ unfurled itself to a massive headline reading **ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN**. Xenophilius’ breath caught and the hand clutching the remaining letter shook. Unsteady fingers broke the seal. Together the sisters read over his shoulder the short missive.

_My Pretty Xeno,_

_Minister Fudge used to bring the Prophet and your dear Quibbler in to taunt me, he never knew what strength your consistent belief gave me._

_The time there has not made me strong, however. And there is a task I must do. He killed them, Xeno. He will kill my dear goddaughter Harriet if given the chance. He is already too close._

_Wait just a bit more, yeah?_

_You know I will always return to your side._

_Your Siri_

The blinding snow melted away and another letter swam forward.

_Father,_

_Fourth year is different from the others. Someone here is different. Harriet listens when I tell her of the wrackspurts and nargles and she asks me nothing of disbelief. She only wishes to assist. We met because of the thestrals. Harriet Potter understands far more what it means to see them in the flesh._

_I hope to know her better._

_How are you, father? Have you gotten Siri to agree to see you, yet? I'd quite like another parent._

_Luna_

Xenophilius refolded the creased letter and placed it in the inner pocket of his robes as he paced the front steps of the town house. A Seer for a daughter came as a gift and a kick to the arse. But if it had gotten him this meeting, divination had his gratitude. 

He hesitated before stepping up to the imposing black door. He had never visited this home during all the time he courted Sirius Black. Xenophilius knocked softly on the door, as he had been instructed, but bellowing screams burst from within.

"Walburga." Zerrin breathed in a pained gasp, remembering the torment of the painted woman.

The blond took a step back as if to retreat, but held his ground as the door opened. A hand shot out and pulled them all into the dark interior of Grimmauld's entrance hall. Walburga's curtains had burst apart and the intense filth she screamed at her haggard son did not relent until with a gasp, her eyes dropped to Xenophilius Lovegood.

"BLOOD TRAITORS and SCUM that you ALLOW WITHIN MY HOME-" Her voice paused upon long blond hair. "A pureblood…? A Lovegood of the French lines…"

She mused as her eyes snapped rapidly between the two men and Sirius had become so taken aback by her change that he forgot to let go of Xenophilius or say hello. She fixed her eyes on her son, "So, you do intend to give me heirs?"

Sirius gaped at the painting, his jaw bobbing as a fish in water until his face flushed. He threw a spell at her curtains, slamming them shut and silencing any further interest.

"Siri…" Xenophilius began.

"Not because of her!" Sirius attempted to yank his arm away to hide his face but after fourteen years without that sight, Xenophilius refused to allow such a thing. The sisters watched their father encircle their Tata in his arms as they fell to the floor in the hall.

They stayed in that memory for a long time, the two wrapped in each other's arms. They talked about how long it had been, what laugh lines had survived, and why Siri needed a haircut. When the talking stopped they rediscovered how one's head fit in the crook of the other's neck and that Siri needed some serious caring for. 

When the environment around them altered one last time, Xenophilius sat in Sirius's bedroom of Grimmauld place, cradling a potion in his hand. The potion glowed a happy yellow and swirled slowly. He bowed his head and hung for a moment.

"We waited too long, Siri." He spoke to the empty room. "Now our chance is gone. We should have tried, regardless of the Order's restrictions. I'll carry out your living will, we will care for Harriet. I only wish we could have given them both another sibling..."

His fingers stroked the potion mournfully, clasping it in his fingers as he walked the path back to the front door. His wand flicked, tearing down the fidelius charm and setting up the desires of the prior master's will. As he stepped into the entrance hall, Walburga's painting seemed to sigh and fall into a deep sleep. With a lingering smile, Xenophilius took one last look before stepping out the door and locking the townhouse.

]|[

Coming up from the pensieve felt more like drowning rather than surfacing. Zerrin clung to Luna as they were relentlessly pulled through buckets of cold water. She felt the compression as they hit the surface, the magic spitting them from the bowl to the dewey grass. They breathed in the clean scent followed by the deep smell of soil while attempting to catch their breath. 

"Father always believed." Luna’s dreamy tone announced to the world.

"He defined himself by it," Zerrin gasped back.

"'Prove it does not exist.' He would always say, 'Without all proof how can you be so sure?'" Luna quoted.

The waiting Slytherins caught them then, crouching down and checking to see if they were safe. Malfoy and Riddle maintained a pureblood composure within their concern, offering stability rather than panic. The girls rested their weight heavily on the head boy and prefect. Orion fluttered, a bat caught in the wind and attempting to help but struggling to calm his own energy first.

"So, _that's_ where Tata gets it from." Luna whispered to Zerrin as they stumbled forward. 

Unprepared for the comment, Zerrin snorted. Attempting to contain her laughter backfired to such a degree that she tripped, pulling Riddle down with her. He landed on her as the laughter ricocheted from her chest and Orion’s mother hen fluttering increased its fever.

]|[

“These professors have some sort of issue with siblings! First we can’t be partners, now overlapping opposite classes? It’s bullshit!” Zerrin vented her frustrations to an amused Luna and scandalized Walburga as they walked to breakfast Tuesday morning.

“Language, Zerrin!” Walburga whisper chidded, conscious of the looks they drew from passing students.

A boy walking from behind reached out to grab the hem of Zerrin’s skirt. Tucking his head onto her shoulder and speaking loud enough for the whole hall to hear, he sleezed, “Come, now, a pretty little girl like you shouldn’t say things like that.”

Zerrin whirled to face the older boy. Her wand snapped into her fingers and began to Twirl. From the torchlight brightening the passage, a stream of flames hurtled toward the boy’s school bag. He reacted instinctively, grabbing at the flames to put them out, gaining himself several long burns. When the majority of his bag had given in to her magic and disintegrated, Zerrin cut off the magic, panting angrily.

Walburga shouted from her right, “Mulciber, you...se-sexist fucker!”

Zerrin looked at her in surprise, and with Luna’s laughter brightening her mood, the sisters cheered their new friend. _“That language._ Fuck yes!”

Luna nodded Zerrin's way, “She likes when people use her word as their first profanity.”

“Orion is going to hear about this, isn’t he?” Walburga groaned.

“With no doubt.” Zerrin smirked. Leaving the singed Slytherin boy in their wake, the three witches turned the corner and ducked into the great hall, seamlessly blending into the previous subject.

“You’ll be fine, Zerrin, you’ll have Riddle to keep you company.” Edona remarked to them as they sat down, with a knowing smile when the Selwyn Heiress groaned. “Most teen wizards think healing is a soft science. Father says, then they try to become aurors or blow themselves up and quickly repent, but by then it’s too late.” She flicked her eyelashes and huffed out a breath.

“Would you say your father is right about everything?” Luna questioned dreamily.

Edona started, “Definitely not, Father gets a lot of things wrong, but about this, he has never been more right.”

“Don’t let our dear Ptolemy Malfoy hear you say that.” Abraxas reached over her for a breakfast roll. “Truce with you or not, Father will magically tan your hide.”

“Who would tell him if you were not here to witness?” She spat back. The siblings began to bicker back and forth, the subject matter quickly devolving from important matters to snide sibling jibes.

“Why did someone start this nonsense?” Tom Riddle asked the three witches watching the Malfoy siblings. He shook his head in exhaustion before gracefully stepping into the seat beside Zerrin. His voice darkened as he turned to her, “I heard there was an incident in the hall.”

Blue eyes pinned her to her seat and Zerrin had no clue how to respond, “I… He created an issue and I had to stop it…”

“By becoming my fire demon _in public?”_ He spoke in a tone that definitely wasn’t looking for creative answers.

“I…”

“After classes this evening you are detained in the common room areas, as I see we need to review the rules of The House of Salazar.” 

She opened her mouth, moments from objecting, when Luna’s voice rang out. “You know, Abraxas, the way you bicker with your sister reminds me of the majestic peacock. I think I’ll call you Pavo. Okay, Pavo?” She finished and tilted her head sweetly just as he had taken a big sip of pumpkin juice. Shock caused juice to spray from his nose directly forward, hitting - to Abraxas’ horror - his lord directly in the face. Abraxas burst through various apologies as Tom Riddle did not move.

Zerrin, working quickly, grabbed the napkin in front of her and began dabbing as she used her magic to siphon the juice out of his formerly white dress shirt. Murder built in his eyes, so instinctually she put her presence more in his space. She had been the only one to survive him, twice afterall. She had moved so closely that by the time he’d dried off, Luna had evacuated Abraxas, and he gained the control to move independent limbs through his rage once more, she found herself in his lap. Zerrin moved to shuffle back instantly and something seemed to dim in his eyes. They sharpened once more as he flicked his head to the main doors.

Zerrin could only imagine the thoughts of revenge and torture passing through his mind. She worried at the ones he would discard as _not enough_. She fluttered her magic, staining his shirt back white and tainting the area with the smell of whiskey and lime. His attention snapped to her and she smiled in relief, “Riddle? Can you show me the way to Magical Artifacts? Class starts in seven minutes.”

]|[

Magical Artifacts passed surprisingly without much issue. They focused on a detection spell and Zerrin thought she caught whiffs of thunderstorms, but the magic from the spell localized itself quickly when cast properly, and she could not grasp the source. A familiarity swum in her mind, leaving her wondering where she could have possibly smelled magic so unique before.

A drizzle coated the grounds when Zerrin and Riddle emerged from the castle, making their way to the greenhouses. Their silent walk allowed her to compare the smell from the classroom to the rain around her. The scent of the magic lacked something integral to the falling water. It felt purer somehow. Untainted. She continued her query, walking in trance a step behind Riddle until with a jolt, she heard the professor calling roll.

A very young Pomona Sprout commanded the class. "Books away, class!"

"How young is she?" Zerrin spoke without meaning to.

"I'm guessing she is in her first year or two of teaching." Luna’s voice appeared from her elbow.

"Salazar! Warn me would you?" The raven haired witch hip-checked the blonde beneath the table. "She was _old_ in the other place then…"

Orion drawled from their other side, “I doubt a woman of her youth wishes to be called old.” Walburga emphasised this with a sharp look.

Professor Sprout once more demanded the classes’ attention. “Who here can tell me of the positive uses of Venomous Tentacula?” A smattering of hands shot up along the worktables, Zerrin raised her’s half heartedly. 

“Ms. Behfel, let's give the others a chance first. Ms. Zerrin Selwyn, what insight can you provide the class on this temperamental plant?”

Zerrin found herself caught off guard. In the majority of her classes, it had been the confident hand raisers who were called on. The witch across the work bench from her glared. Spite sharding from her eyes, all Zerrin could think of was attempting to remember her name. _Verona? Verin? No… Verene!_

“We will wait, Ms. Selwyn.” Professor Sprout reminded her of the task set amidst tittering from her new classmates.

“When the venom in the leaves is simmered into a thin liquid, it can be used to soften harder substances,” Zerrin retorted. “Toxicity damages the greater structure of the material, then the material is easier to break down and mold or mix.”

The class had gone silent by the time the professor spoke again. “Such as?” 

“Gold.” She vaguely heard points being awarded her way, and felt further animosity from the direction of Behfel, but her mind had flickered back to her golden knut. She wondered what sort of usefulness it could lend her here, and how nice it would be to have in this moment.

]|[

After Herbology, the sixth year Slytherins found themselves once again divided by their class load. While Walburga and Orion divided off to the forest line for their Care of Magical Creatures class, Luna drifted off from the main group returning to the castle. Zerrin sent her a pleading glance but she only winked and left her sister to the coaxing hands of Tom Riddle convincing her to use her free period to walk him to Arithmancy. Luna gave a fleeting wave when she knew Zerrin had become too far entangled in the conversation to join her, and moved towards the darker shadows in the treeline.

Her eyes flickered upon the ground as she stepped carefully through the gnarled roots. When the second shadowed grove opened up, she found what she had searched for. Hoof prints littered the area in all sizes. Despite being of similar size to that of a muggle horse they had individual markers setting them apart. The distinct rounded shape sharpened to a point at the bend, and each print looked elongated. Narrower and stretched vertically. 

Luna reached her small hand into her bookbag and from one of the hidden compartments pulled a handful of feed. The meat, released from its freshening seal, immediately began to drip. Blood slid from her fingers as Luna threw the raw beef chunks into the center of the grove and waited. Rustling began in front of her, some distance away. She smiled, knowing their noses could pick up the scent of the food from afar. 

The thestral which entered the clearing first brushed the low hanging branches with the tips of its skeletal ears. When it whipped its long mane, the hair caught along the low branches before falling back between leathery wings. The single thestral moved toward the offering, taking the smallest piece and raising it’s head vertically above the body before consuming it. After a moment, the sharp beak released a soft trill, bringing more shuffling from the trees. Other leather clad figures emerged, seamlessly blending from the shadows.

“Whoa…” An awestruck voice whispered behind Luna. Having thought she stood alone, she spun to face the intruder. 

“Abraxas! I’m glad it’s you.” Her trembling fingers retreated from her wand. She turned back to the accumulating herd in front of her, pulling out more meat from her satchel.

He situated himself up next to her, eyeing the largest thestral with a tilt of his head.

“She is the leader of the herd.” Luna informed, “You can tell by her size and mane. The herd leader rarely loses her hairs. If she couldn’t protect those, how could she ever protect the rest of them?” She smiled at him, retrieving more meat from her satchel.

Abraxas sniffed just so at the sight of more bloody meat. “Do you...always just happen to have that on hand?”

She held her fingers out to a foal, whose long tongue licked slowly at the remaining drops. “Usually. Even with preservation spells, it only lasts so long. I have to empty out my stock before it goes bad regardless.”

“I see…” Abraxas said wearily. 

“I don’t mind actually. It means I get to see them often enough to build a connection. Soon, this herd will know me, too.”

“Why do you want to connect with them?” His voice was soft, curious. Interested rather than condemning.

“Witnessing death is not the only condition to see a thestral. One must witness and comprehend the reality of it.” The foal nuzzled her neck, her hand moving to rub its hardened horns. She turned her body to Abraxas without pulling away. “The true mystery, Pavo, is if they decide as a species that we have comprehended the reality of death, or if another force reveals them to us. Additionally, how do we go about comprehending it when we can’t even verbalize it?”

Abraxas grimaced at the nickname, but pondered on her question. After several minutes, he placed his hand firmly on her center back and murmured to her. “Perhaps, acceptance is the closest we come to true comprehension without experience.”

She leaned into his bracing hold, her breathing haggard. “I think that is something thestrals wish to convey. A new introduction into the world after something has been pulled from it.”

She turned into his space bringing their lips inches apart. He began to pull away citing, “We’ll be late for lunch if we don’t go soon.”

Her hands gripped his biceps, wishing to hold him there. “Just another few moments.”

Apprehensive silver eyes met hers, but he moved back the one step he had taken. She leaned in, her body pressed against his to tuck her head beneath his chin. The polished head boy badge on his chest tickled her nose.Slowly, his hands came to hold her, one softly returning to its place on her back and the other playing with her hair. “I find that you steal the first move from me every time. You constantly catch me off guard, Ms. Selwyn,” he teased.

She smiled into his neck, and felt his body jolt as her lips moved. Shivers rose along his skin. Her head lifted and just as he moved to look down at her in askance, she pressed their lips securely together.

]|[

“Godric, he’s just as useless.” Tom paused in his study of their textbook to look up and see Zerrin staring in slack jaw horror at the front of the class. Professor Binns had fallen into his typical habit of droning on about the various goblin wars while covering dates and conquests but nothing particularly noteworthy outside of the bloodiness of the conflict.

She didn’t bother to lower her tone as she continued. “How can someone this boring remain employed as a teacher?”

“Alive he even will care enough to grade.” Her sister commented casually from the heiress’ other side.

“Fuck!”

“Five points from each house for profanity.” Binns did not turn around, too engrossed in returning to his lecture to care about removing the points specifically. The Gryffindors groaned and mumbled at the unfair treatment, but could do little to fight the decision with such an uncaring teacher.

Tom placed his quill in his textbook to hold his spot. “Why is the distinction that he is alive?”

“Um..” Came the incoherent reply as shocked green eyes met his. 

Luna sighed heavily before answering. “We had a ghost tutor for history at one time, He too was stuck on one subject to the detriment of his students. The subject became much like a pygmy puff splashing in a swamp.”

"A what in a swamp?" Something rang odd within the story, but the whole of it seemed true, so Tom let it slide. “Pretending that a ghost’s unfinished will _is_ to perfect that one lesson plan, this livelier version is going to offer you much the same result, I believe.”

“No.” Zerrin dropped her quill and leaned back.

“Excuse me? This is still a NEWT entrance level class!” His low voice cut through the small distance.

“You’ll have to have something else to occupy the hour,” Luna murmured, nose already back in her book. “Or else you’ll just have to drop the class.”

Tom watched Zerrin evaluate the options in front of her, and he saw with a tingling feeling creep up his spine how the cogs behind her eyes focused on him.

“I refuse.” He immediately vetoed in a toneless voice.

“Riddle, there’s currently nothing to refuse,” a sweet voice slipped from her lips, alarming him further. For several minutes nothing occurred, he went back to his notes and again tuned out the voice of Binns at the front of the room. A sudden disruption to his normal History of Magic routine had his quill splashing a line of ink along the half filled page.

Zerrin’s hand shifted atop his knee. He could barely feel the weight as her fingers lightly swirled, then plucked at the fabric of his robe. His leg jittered without his control so he stomped all of his weight on to it. He refused to show how affected this made him. She stayed there for a long time, long enough that Tom thought he could become accustomed to the feeling, that it wouldn't affect him. Suddenly, her weight shifted. The hand moved to his chest, just below his ribs. She softly tapped, counting them as she brushed those same fingers on the thin layer of his shirt. Somewhere in his mind, he recognized she lacked an understanding of the effect her touch had on him. She would likely pull away if she did. This burned within him, both for her to maintain this ignorance and for her to become acutely aware of just what her body did to him.

Students began packing their bags and darting from the room. Even Luna moved faster than the two of them as they had been stuck in their own bubble. Tom waved his wand, muttering several cleaning charms to pack up their things. He hooked Zerrin’s elbow and pulled her from the room. They wove through the crowd, Tom refusing to alter his grip on her arm until he swung her into an unused classroom, locking the door. He used the momentum to press her to the wall, pushing his body into contact with hers and forcing her to feel the effects she had on him.

Pleasure coarse through him as her eyes widened and a flush rose to dust her pale cheeks. “Oh.”

“Indeed. If you intend to test me demon, you _will_ know the effects.” He rested his forearms on the wall, caging in her head. His head dropped closer to hers, lips brushing her ear. Words wanted to bubble up from him, but he would never give another that type of power over him. He could say them, afterall, because there existed one language only he understood. _“So many things I wish to do to you, but how satisfying it will be when you serve willingly.”_

She jerked in his hold, hands gripping his robes. He would allow her that one impertinence. The hisses of parseltongue had many arousing effects on the human body, his lips pressed to her neck and sucked. 

He had earned this much with his patience. 

She tasted like nothing he had ever experienced. After inhaling the scent of her magic so many times, he thought it could prepare him. But nothing had. Too crisp for the zing of firewhiskey, and too smooth to be similar to anything students could pilfer from the muggle world.

His arms moved without command, forming steel bars around her waist. Strength he never had need of pulled her to him, letting his lips latch further. His tongue traced the vein at the junction of her shoulder and another need rose in him. When his teeth made light contact, her whimper brought music to his world.

_Enough._

His lips pulled back slowly, showing her that her release fell completely under his power as he loosened his hold and stepped away. Her hand hovered over that spot, not touching, and not fast enough to hide the already purplish mark from his gaze. Tom smirked. Green eyes blazed with more emotion than Tom thought he had ever felt, _though, right now may be a close match._

"Weren't you taught to ask, Tom Riddle?!"

"No, fire demon. In fact, I taught myself that taking by force yields the best results." She sputtered at him, her rage lacking fulfillment, until her stomach growled, undercutting her fury. "Dinner time, Zerrin. You eat too little as is." A free laugh boomed from him, it felt so pleasing to catch her off guard.

]|[

The common room shifted in tandem, the scratching of quills keeping an odd melody in the quiet space. During homework hours in Slytherin, students respected the need to complete their coursework and focus more than they did even in the library. Occasionally muttering could be heard as one student consulted several lines on their parchment with another, then the room again fell into its hypnotic rhythm. Luna paused on the parchment in front of her. She and Zerrin had stumbled upon something of a stumbling block to their learning. Some of the magic they were well versed in had yet to be invented, to their best knowledge. Or the spells had not yet been introduced to the masses.

Thus the problem. 

Without a complete list of what spells did exist, they ran the risk of introducing magic far too early. Particularly magic that the Wizarding World and the Ministry would look at as untested and experimental. Just as in the time of the second wizarding war, none of their coursework discussed magical theory. If Severus had been correct, magical theory had not yet disappeared but had merely been shuttered on a public level.

_Perhaps,_ Luna mused, _That explains the bias against muggle raised magicals. If they knew nothing of spell creation, purebloods could believe they would have nothing to offer the society._

She paused in her thoughts before answering herself aloud. "Absolute nonsense and a head full of nargles, of course."

Sitting next to her, Abraxas raised his craned neck from his essay and eyed her peculiarly.

"No, not you, just others." She answered. His confusion hovered, before he shrugged, throwing aside the question and returning to his assignment.

"This essay is the nonsense," Zerrin muttered. She pushed the goblin wars textbook away from her. 

"If you don't stay in the class, who will bother Tom?" Luna flicked her wide eyes to her sisters form just in time to see the expressive girl's face blush crimson. "Oh, so maybe he wasn't the only one bothered." She teased.

Abraxas sniffed in disbelief. "Tom doesn't usually engage in that sort of behavior because someone else initiated it."

"Shh- Pavo." Luna tempered while Zerrin interrupted.

"Pretty sure I felt his behavior _engage._ " Her face flushed further and she attempted to hide behind her hair. 

Luna stood to her knees, shifting Wabbajack from her lap and onto the floor beside her things. She moved closer to Zerrin with a gleam in her eyes. "And? How did you react?"

"I don't _know."_ Her every word felt strangled. "I've kissed one boy and it happened to be unpleasant and weepy. Then all the sudden, Riddle is there, and he is _Tom_ and there's a lot of him currently being _right there_. And I've only had ONE very bad kiss, Luna!" She huffed as if to continue with her rant, but Abraxas’ abrupt voice cut her off.

"My Lord…" Luna and Zerrin both flickered first to Abraxas - who oddly seemed to be clutching a vibrating Wabbajack - then they pivoted to look over the elder witch's shoulder. 

Tom stood behind them, caught off guard and somehow in the middle of joining or leaving the group. His bag had dropped in the middle of the floor and he made no movement to retrieve it. Twitches flickered through his wand hand, pulling it towards the girls then back to his side. "You had experienced nothing worth repeating?" He croaked out.

Zerrin dropped her head to the table, causing the inlaid glass to clatter. A moan sounding something like 'no' emerged from her.

Luna’s dreamy look faded as the humor of the miscommunication in front of her eroded the temperate state. She smiled, and Tom Riddle took her look to be encouragement.

"There are many pleasures to experience. Power, magic, the flesh." Tom seated himself at the center of the table. "I can offer the freedom to conquer all. Zerrin and Luna Selwyn, you have much to offer. Become Knights of Walpurgis, and I will lead you to greatness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are wonderful and I enjoy hearing from readers, it brings my attention back to my writing with every comment!
> 
> Thank you to all my readers for being supportive, particularly about real life things that do take priority. I am grateful.


End file.
